


Children of Men

by Elo_Awry



Series: Polymer Children [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Androids Have Genitalia (Detroit: Become Human), Background Relationships, Developing Relationship, Domestic, Fertility Issues, First Time, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mixed Genitalia, Mpreg, POV Alternating, Pregnancy, Sexbot Connor but not the usual way, Sexual Content, children of men au, pre-dystopia, slow burn except not at all, social unrest, vaginas are present in this fic, waxing poetic about parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2020-10-11 17:03:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20549642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elo_Awry/pseuds/Elo_Awry
Summary: Global fertility rates have plummeted to almost nothing and the world is in panic, but CyberLife has a solution. As it turns out, Hank is just fertile enough to be a part of this solution-- if he wants to keep his job. It's for the good of humanity, anyway, and at least the android they send him is cute.[OR:Connor is a literal baby-makin' machine, and is excited to get working on that. Hank? He's got some reservations, but not very strict ones.]((On break possibly infinitely, due to IRL stuff mildly relevant to this story. Details inside.))





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I started this (except it's obviously a niche interest of mine), but I can tell you one thing: my google search history for this fic is weird as heck.  
Anyway, I've got an extensive outline for this fic, but I'm slow and easily distracted so if I never finish it <s>well it wouldn't be the first time</s>, sorry. I wasn't even gonna post this yet, but it seems silly to just let it sit.  
Anyway, no smut in the first chapter, btw. There'll be a few scenes later but I'll be honest, I didn't mean to put them there? It just seemed kind of impossible not to, what with the plot being what it is. 
> 
> ALSO (god how do I almost forget to mention this?)  
SO, this is based on/inspired by the movie of the same title, except in the movie everything's worse and there are no androids. I just liked the concept. 
> 
> EDIT: April 2020. I have an outline for this and would really love to finish it, but recently I actually got pregnant myself and then had some complications and lost it. That sort of... has made writing a bit emotionally complicated. Therefore, I can't really guarantee the fate of this fic. Sorry.  
Also, I'm switching it over to my other account, just because I don't like having a lot of explicit stuff (let alone unfinished ones) on my main.

Cole’s death stung. It still did, even several years down the line. But Hank couldn’t decide if it hurt more or less, with the way the world was so obviously going to hell.  
  
He didn’t consider himself a religious man, no more than it was impossible not to be when you grew up in middle-America. He had an awareness of the concept of God that was one part hypothetical and one part assumed. Like, sure, God exists. Or maybe he doesn’t. It was just a thing that didn’t bear thinking about much. But the past few years, he had to admit that the idea of an angry deity was looking more and more likely, if only as a way to rationalize humanity’s new woes-- because a lot of people would say it wasn’t at all rational to believe in God, but it sure as hell wasn’t rational that every person in the fucking world had suddenly become infertile either.

It probably wasn’t really sudden, but to a layman it definitely looked like it. Out of nowhere, there were reports that the birth rates had plummeted, and then over the course of the next few years dwindled down to almost nothing. It still wasn’t at zero or there’d have probably been chaos, but Hank sure couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a baby or known someone who was having one. He heard about it on the news, but you also heard about people winning the lottery, so that didn’t mean much.  
  
The death rate was still as high as ever, of course. Maybe higher, with everyone’s nerves tightrope-tense. So, the DPD was not lacking for work. On top of all the murder, there was also a lot of other civil unrest for them to deal with: riots and violent protests became commonplace, although it was never entirely clear what anyone was protesting _against._ Everyone had their own idea about who or what was the cause of this impending extinction. Some blamed chem-trails, shady government organizations, and greedy corporations. They blamed global warming, or big pharma. They blamed aliens, technology. They blamed sinners.  
  
Nobody blamed CyberLife, because the company had kept its nose to the ground thus far. It wasn’t common knowledge that they were developing hyper-realistic humanoid robots; if it had been, there doubtless would have been more than the fair share of blame pointed at them. People would have said that God was punishing humanity for its hubris, for thinking they could create life as well as he did.  
  
But CyberLife stayed quiet, so there was none of that. Even Hank wasn’t aware that androids were on the cusp of being brought to life, despite the DPD’s awareness of most controversial or dangerous things happening in Detroit.  
  
What Hank _was_ aware of was the government’s incessant and intrusive desire to boost birth rates through nearly any means. He was aware of this because government workers were all _heavily recommended_ to submit to fertility testing. (The propaganda was intense, but the civilian population was only _asked_ to help. Coercion was saved for those that could be threatened with job loss.) Normally, Hank would have shot a hearty ‘fuck you’ at anyone who asked him for a DNA sample, because it wasn’t like his sperm was going to save the human race, but when faced with a write-up he decided to go along and give them his donation.  
  
So that was how he found that he was ranked in the top one percent in fertility among Detroit’s sampled populace. It was, actually, kind of an awkward thing to know about oneself, especially given that his wife had left him years ago and no other woman was likely to give him the time of day, let alone ask him to impregnate them for the good of the human race. The government’s new Fertility Services Center was definitely barking up the entirely wrong tree if they thought he was going to be able to help them bring new life into this dying world.  
  
As it turned out, luckily, they just wanted to study his DNA in the comfort of their lab, so he agreed to keep sending them their monthly cups of jizz.  
  
He expected that would be the end of that, unless the FSC got desperate and wanted to use his samples for in-vitro or something. He didn’t know how he felt about potentially being a father and not necessarily knowing about it. Parenthood was always damn complicated but these days that didn’t even begin to cover it. Still, he was left mostly to his own pathetic devices as the birth rate continued to trickle and the general population got more and more irritated. His co-workers occasionally teased him about his supposed super-sperm (because of course the office’s fertility statistics had been made common knowledge among them), but it was never particularly cruel. If anything, it was… hopeful, like they were glad there was still someone out there whose insides weren’t rotted.  
  
Things continued on, a sort of new normal, until CyberLife finally gained the headway they needed. Then they said ‘fuck you’ to Hank’s _new normal._  
  
It was a relatively regular sort of day. Hank had passed three protests on his way into work, which was about average for the sort of weather they were having. The news feed claimed birth rates were holding steady at 1.7 per thousand, the same as the previous month. It might not have been cause for celebration, but the consistency had people slightly less on edge. Hank didn’t much care one way or the other; he’d already tried and failed, so whatever happened to the world was of little consequence to him.  
  
That was what he thought, nearly every day, as the statistics scrolled and scrolled on the news channels that he couldn’t manage to avoid watching. ‘Not my problem.’ ‘Got nothing to do with me.’  
  
A young man who was sitting in Fowler’s office thought very much differently, though Hank didn’t know that until the Captain lead him out and over to Hank’s desk, a pained look on his already strained face. The young man’s expression betrayed nothing. At first glance, Hank assumed he was a new recruit.  
  
Fowler stared at him for a good long second, his mouth slightly parted as if there were words he needed to get out but couldn’t quite figure how. “Anderson,” he said, and Hank just nodded, wondering if maybe this new kid was an FBI transplant, sent to keep an eye on them. That was sure to make Fowler uncomfortable. But after a breath, he continued. “This is… Connor. He’s been sent by a company called CyberLife, under a partnership with the federal government. They’re starting up a new program and they want to do a trial run in Detroit, so they’ve… requested that the two of you work together.”  
  
Hank frowned in thought. “So the feds are giving me a new partner, is what you’re saying?”  
  
He glimpsed a flash of ‘I can’t believe this shit’ as it crossed Fowler’s face, but then the new guy spoke up, giving Fowler a charmingly bland smile. “I can explain the finer details to the lieutenant,” he suggested. “I understand it can be an uncomfortable subject.”  
  
“You do that,” Fowler said, failing to hold back a grimace. “You need anything else from me?”  
  
“No sir,” Connor replied.  
  
Hank was unfortunately well-versed enough in Fowler’s particular brand of non-verbal communication that he could immediately identify the look the Captain gave him as apologetic-- a rare and frightening expression for a man who normally didn’t put up with anyone’s shit, nor care if that left them floundering in it alone. He might as well have said aloud, ‘Sorry, but you’re on your own.’  
  
Both Connor and Hank watched as Fowler retreated back to his office, and then the young man turned and fixed his charming smile on his apparent _new partner._ It was a little less bland than the one he’d given to Fowler, Hank noted.  
  
“So how long are we working together?” Hank asked, settling back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t care to pretend that posture meant anything to him, and didn’t want the new guy getting any ideas about what he could expect from him. “If you’re a fed, I figure it’s temporary.”  
  
“The duration of our partnership is intended to range from four to ten months, if things go well,” Connor said, and Hank was a little surprised to find that he didn’t seem at all dismayed at the prospect of being stuck in a shithole like Detroit for half a year. “But, Lieutenant, I think you may be misunderstanding the nature of the program CyberLife created me for.”  
  
“Yeah?” Hank asked, before the full sentence set in and he wrinkled his nose. _“Created?”_  
  
“That’s right,” Connor said with a short nod. “I am an RK800 model android, created to help facilitate the Fertility Services Center’s new plan to help raise the birth rate from its dangerously low current percentage.” To illustrate, he passed a hand over his right temple, and the skin seemed to melt away to reveal smooth, white, plastic flesh and a blue LED ring embedded into his skull.  
  
Hank was almost distracted by the show, and how the skin grew back over the space after a moment, but if the actual for-real existence of androids was a surprise (compared to just their rumor, which had floated about in a casual sort of way for a while), the mention of the FSC was an ice-cold shock.  
  
“Wait.” He blinked up at Connor, eyes narrow as he tried to sort through his thoughts. “The FSC commissioned _robots_ and sent one to _me_ to ‘partner up with’. Because you’re going to help the birth rate situation _how?”_  
  
He had an idea, but he was still not in the least bit prepared for Connor’s answer: “By conceiving and carrying a child in the specialized, sterile environment of my body, which can run constant real-time diagnostics on its gestational well-being.”  
  
“Uh,” Hank said, very eloquently. He was aware that his mouth was probably hanging so far open that he was liable to start catching flies. There were so many damn questions running through his head, but most of them felt far-away and difficult to latch onto. Finally, one did tumble out of his mouth. “And how the fuck am I supposed to help with that?” he asked, though deep inside of him, he already knew the answer.  
  
“Sexually,” Connor said lightly, tilting his head just a little bit to the side in a very innocent expression.  
  
Hank sunk his head into his hands. “Oh you’ve gotta be fucking with me.”  
  
There was a palpable silence from Connor’s end for a moment. “I’m led to understand that that phrase has several colloquial usages.”  
  
_“Go the fuck away,” _Hank growled into the confines of his hands.  
  
“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” Connor said. “My programming forbids me from declining this task. It is what I was created for, after all.”  
  
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t sit here and listen to this thing say _whatever it was saying,_ so Hank shoved up from his desk chair and pushed past Connor and into Fowler’s office. The door wasn’t locked, but he felt like it wouldn’t have mattered.  
  
“Hank,” Fowler said in greeting, far too casual not to be apologetic.  
  
Hank could feel himself shaking, absolutely mortified. (At least the bullpen hadn’t been very busy, but God, of course they sprung this on him in public. Couldn’t have sent a letter or something?) “Jeffrey, what the _fuck.”_  
  
“It wasn’t my idea,” Fowler promised. “The notification about the program came in yesterday, but it didn’t specify much so I didn’t think about it. I didn’t know you were involved until this morning, when the--” He gestured out to Hank’s desk, where Connor was standing where Hank had left him, gazing at the various items strewn about Hank’s workspace. “I did call the people in charge of the program, but all they said was it was a federal mandate and if it makes you feel any better you’re not the only one they’re doing this with. Just the only cop, as far as I’m aware.”  
  
Speechless, Hank slumped down into a chair across from Fowler and stared into the middle distance. “What would make me feel better is sending that uncanny plastic asshole back to the factory,” he grumbled. Then he sighed. “So what’re the chances the FSC’ll just take no for an answer?”  
  
“Practically nil, if you want to keep your job,” Fowler answered. “If it helps, you’re getting some PTO.” He cleared his throat. “Time to… adjust to the situation, I suppose.”  
  
“The situation,” Hank echoed, hanging his head before he yanked it up to glare at Fowler. “If I can’t say no without losing my job, doesn’t that make this basically rape?”  
  
Fowler held up his hands, a STOP sign against that particular train of thought. “Look, I didn’t ask for details, so whatever it is they want you to do exactly is a mystery to me, and I’d like to keep it that way. You can take it up with the FSC if you want, but I doubt anyone’s going to be sympathetic. Go public and you’ll just be seen as someone who doesn’t give a shit about humanity.”  
  
“I _don’t_ give a shit about humanity,” Hank said. Fowler shot him an unconvinced glare, but Hank just shrugged. “Just seems… underhanded. The government couldn’t have just _asked?_ Decided it was better to throw a hot twink at me and hope I took the bait?”  
  
“Are you?” Fowler asked. He seemed genuinely curious, a little concerned that he might have to start filing Hank’s resignation.  
  
“Well yeah,” Hank said, hunching down into his shoulders. “But only because I don’t wanna lose my job. It’s basically all I’ve got anymore.”  
  
Fowler shrugged, seemingly slipping back into his standard disinterest now that he knew he wasn’t losing a detective. “And soon you’ll have a kid, if CyberLife is as smart as they think they are. Now if that’s it, get out. You’re on vacation for a week, starting ten minutes ago. Take your hot twink with you and don’t bring it back until you’ve done whatever FSC wants of you. I don’t want to be involved.”  
  
Neither did Hank, but he didn’t have a choice. He quietly flipped the bird at Fowler (a friendly gesture between them, more or less) and went back to his desk, where Connor had picked up his dying bonsai and was carefully peering at it, as if analyzing. He set it back down when Hank approached.  
  
“Was Captain Fowler able to explain the situation in a satisfactory manner?”  
  
Hank scowled on impulse at the language. “He explained to me I’m taking a forced vacation if I want to keep my job, so I’m going home. You’re, uh…” He took a deep breath and let it out in a gunshot of a sigh. “You can come back to my place, I guess. Unless you’ve figured out how to do this over Wi-Fi or something.”  
  
Connor’s smile was pleased. “No, I’m fairly certain that sexual intercourse still requires close proximity,” he said as he followed Hank out to his car.  
  
The ride home would have been tense, but it was filled with too much weird information for Hank to really feel any specific way about it except overwhelmed. As much as he wanted to just ignore the whole situation, he figured he ought to ask a few key questions as soon as possible.  
  
“So I’m guessing they picked me because of my fertility rating,” he started.  
  
“That’s correct,” Connor replied cheerfully. “According to the FSC’s tests on your semen samples, you are more fertile than over ninety-nine percent of the rest of the Detroit population. That only accounts for those who have been tested, but the sample size was well over two hundred thousand, owing largely to the general populace’s investment in finding a solution to the declining birth rate.”  
  
“Wow,” Hank said, deadpan. He was sure that was an impressive statistic, but he didn’t have it in him to care at the moment. He changed the topic. “So, uh, I didn’t mention this before because I thought it was kind of obvious, but you’re a guy. I think.”  
  
Connor hummed, a very human sort of gesture that made Hank wonder just how advanced these robots were. Not that humming was super advanced, but it seemed like the superfluous sort of action that would have been overlooked in a robot. An unnecessary gesture. “That’s not entirely correct,” Connor told him. “While I was designed with a masculine external appearance, I have been given all the genitalia necessary for reproduction. And my internal design at most _mimics_ that of a human, without many of the unnecessary components. So, in essence, I am neither male nor female.”  
  
“Huh. So why’d they give you a ‘masculine external appearance’?”  
  
“To be more sexually appealing to you,” Connor said, as if Hank’s supposed sexual preference were the weather or some other socially appropriate topic. “Your psychological profile suggests that I am ‘your type’.”  
  
Sure he was blushing, Hank demanded, “How the fuck does the government figure that?”  
  
“Your profile was created from a combination of data gathered from your workplace, such as your interactions with co-workers and civilians, and from your internet browser history.”  
  
“Shit.” Hank was positive his ears were red now, thinking that some government worker had not only studied his porn preferences, but then built a goddamn robot person to cater to them. “I sure as hell didn’t give anyone permission to snoop like that.”  
  
Again, Connor had a perfect and terrible answer for him. “The Patriot Act, passed in 2001, allows the government to ‘snoop’ on its citizens if it believes there is reasonable cause, such as a crisis situation.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, is that still in effect?”  
  
Connor seemed to find that funny for some reason. “Yes. But even if it weren’t, you signed away most of your privacy rights to the FSC when you agreed to continue aiding in their research.” He paused for a moment before adding, “The internet suggests utilizing a Virtual Private Network. Would you like me to download one for you?”  
  
Hank glanced at Connor, while trying to keep most of his limited attention on the road. This whole thing was supremely weird, but he wasn’t intending to die in a car accident today. “Uhh… No. Thanks. I’m, uh, I’m good.”  
  
There were still so many things he wanted to know, like… how. Just… _how?_ How was a robot (even if he did seem awfully humanlike) supposed to carry a child? Let alone better than a human woman? How did someone even come up with the idea? How did this get fucking… passed through Congress? How did they end up in this goddamn weird situation? But instead of asking any of those things (not that he doubted Connor would have answers to most of them), he opted for small-talk instead, because it was less traumatizing. Marginally, at least.  
  
That was how Hank found out that this was only Connor’s fifth conscious day on God’s green-ish Earth. He’d been woken from his hibernation or standby or whatever, just so he could be fucked by some unfortunately fertile old guy with a thing for boy-next-door types (according to his internet history), and then spend the next year growing a baby for the good of mankind-- which he wasn’t even part of. He wasn’t getting paid for this, and he didn’t have a choice in the matter; even less so than Hank did, because Hank could at least go decide to live in a cave somewhere. If Connor didn’t do this… then what?  
  
“It’s not possible that I would choose not to do this,” Connor explained, seemingly unperturbed. “Androids don’t have desires or preferences, aside from those programmed into us. I’ve been programmed to help humanity, and to physically nurture a fetus until it is capable of living outside of my body.”  
  
“Okay,” Hank said. “But what if you _did_ decide not to do this? For, just, whatever reason. CyberLife or whoever wouldn’t just let you go become a nomad or something, right?”  
  
Connor blinked, his brow furrowing as he thought (and unfortunately, now that he was aware of Connor’s origin, it made Hank think of a porn vid, of Connor making that cute concentrating face in a much more deliciously lewd scenario). “I’m not sure,” he said. “Because it is my purpose, I imagine declining the task would only be due to an error in my programming. Likely, CyberLife would reset me and have me try again. If you refused, I suppose they would find the next best candidate. Though I would probably have to undergo facial reconstruction first, unless the next candidate had very similar sexual preferences.”  
  
That was just… dark, Hank thought. He guessed it was no different than wiping a computer’s harddrive and cleaning it up before selling it to someone new, but then again he also didn’t fuck his computer, and his computer didn’t look and sound like an eager young poli-sci nerd cheerfully prostituting himself to pay tuition. (Not a porn video he’d ever seen, but definitely one he could imagine.) “That sounds miserable,” he said. “Born just to get fucked, and they didn’t even let you be upset about it.”  
  
With a casual shrug, Connor said evenly, “I’m not able to feel misery.”  
  
“Hmm, well lucky you.”  
  
They arrived back at Hank’s house before much longer, which was a relief because he really needed a beer. (Even though it was before noon. Who was gonna judge him? The robot whose job it was to have sex with him?)  
  
“Oh! You have a dog!” Connor said as they walked through the front door and were accosted by Sumo (who, of course, acted as if Hank had been gone all day, and not just an hour). The android seemed very excited, and leaned down to rub his hands all through the giant dog’s fur. “‘Sumo’,” he read off the tag. “Are you a good boy, Sumo?”  
  
Hank let the two of them distract each other and made a bee-line for the fridge, but apparently Connor was far too invested in his goal to leave Hank alone for long.  
  
“You know, Lieutenant, alcohol consumption decreases testosterone, in turn decreasing libido and the pleasurability of orgasm.”  
  
“Get off my dick,” Hank responded automatically, vaguely regretting the words as they tumbled from his mouth. “And I know. That’s why they put limits on how much you can buy these days. Gov’s so desperate to get the birth-rate up they won’t even let people get properly shitfaced anymore.” He popped the can open, despite the look on Connor’s face, which was patently disapproving. He took a swig, and then another one for good measure, before he smirked at Connor. “What? Worried you won’t be able to complete your mission because I can’t get it up?”  
  
“Yes,” Connor admitted, sounding surprisingly sulky.  
  
“Well I’ll manage eventually. Maybe not today. Hey, maybe not tomorrow. But I’ve got the whole week off. Unless you’re in some sort of rush. It’s not like you’ll get a bonus if you pop one out super fast, right?”  
  
“No, but--”  
  
“So, what? Tired of my charming personality already?”  
  
“No,” Connor said, sounding almost stern. “It’s not possible for me to tire of anything, let alone your personality. I was designed to be appealing to you, after all. I simply want to achieve my designated task in an efficient and timely manner.”  
  
Hank took another drink and let Connor stew in the silence for a moment. “I guess that’s fair,” he said after a short while. “Can’t fault a guy for commitment to his cause.”  
  
Connor’s face brightened, his expression exaggerated like a stage-actor. “So you’ll help me begin the process?”  
  
Laughing, Hank turned towards the living room and the inviting, squashed couch cushions. “Hell no,” he said. “Not right now. Right now, I’m gonna sit my ass down and watch some terrible midday TV. Because I’m on vacation.”  
  
Like a puppy, Connor’s face fell. “Then what should I do in the meantime?”  
  
From his sunken-in spot on the couch, Hank sighed in relief and looked over to where his guest still stood in the kitchen doorway. “You’re like, what? Five days old, you said? Come watch some trashy TV, so you can get a glimpse of humanity.”  
  
So Connor did just that, and they ignored the awkwardness of the situation for a little while. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well this chapter got kinda smutty. Dunno what I expected; they obviously had to do _something_, at _some_ point. Anyway, based on my outline, it looks like it'll probably be like this, about every-other-chapter. Hope you don't mind.

It turned out that Connor was a decent TV-watching partner. He interjected with questions at all the right times, much like a child would, but with a little more grace. His programming had included a lot of information, but not a lot of real-world examples. He was often baffled by the way the people on TV acted, whether the show was a drama, a comedy, or a reality show. Hank could hardly remember being so innocently unaware of peoples’ stupidity and motivations.  
  
Connor didn’t bring up his ‘task’ a single time during their several-hour television marathon. Hank doubted he’d forgotten about it, but he appreciated the android’s ability to act like a normal person and not just a sex slave.  
  
Eventually Hank’s stomach rumbled, so he pushed Sumo off of him and pulled himself up off the couch so he could meander over to the kitchen for some lunch. Connor joined him, standing a foot or so behind as he looked through the fridge with mild interest.  
  
“You want something?” Hank asked. He wasn’t sure what Connor liked. So far in their small-talk, food preferences hadn’t really come up. “I need to go grocery shopping… I guess we could order in?”  
  
“I don’t require food,” Connor said. “But I could make something for you. I am, in theory, a good cook.”  
  
Hank raised an eyebrow. “If you don’t eat, why the hell would they bother giving you the ability to cook?”  
  
“_I_ don’t require food, but the fetus will, so I’ll need to begin consuming food as soon as conception occurs. Therefore, it’s logical to have a basic knowledge of food preparation.” He slid closer, into the small space between Hank and the fridge door, and picked a few items out, seemingly at random. Then, without another word, he brought them to the counter and set to cooking.  
  
Hank watched. Connor really did seem to know what he was doing (even if Hank had no idea what he was making just yet). But watching a robot cook was less weird than being reminded why he was here in the first place.  
  
“So, uh.” Hank chewed on his lip for a minute, not quite sure how to voice any of his many questions. “How is this gonna work, anyway? Can you just… give me a rundown?”  
  
Connor glanced over his shoulder at him, smiling. “Certainly,” he said, returning his gaze to the food. “At your earliest convenience, you and I will begin a sexual relationship. Penatrative sex will be necessary, unless you have a specific aversion to it, in which case I’ll have to employ an alternate method of fertilization. Either way, your sperm will be collected into my body, at which point I will begin the process of converting the cells into a zygote, and then into an embryo. In time, should my systems remain functional and I retain access to appropriate nutrition, the embryo will become a fetus, and the fetus will become a human infant.”  
  
Hank stared at the back of Connor’s head. “Yeah, I mean, I know how babies are made. Normally. But I don’t think this is a normal situation. Did they… give you some healthy woman’s eggs or something? Artificial eggs?”  
  
Connor paused as if in thought, and then walked back over to the refrigerator for a few eggs, which he carefully weighed in his hands before cracking into a pan. “No,” he then said in response. “I was not created with any existing DNA. After collecting your sperm, I will then sort through the available DNA and pick the most viable combination of chromosomes to become an oocyte.”  
  
“Wait, so you’re saying… you’re gonna _clone me?”_  
  
“No,” Connor said, the single syllable slightly drawn out as if to imply it was obvious. “The nearest example would be if you were to sexually reproduce with a genetically identical twin, but far more precise and without the possibility of harmful inbred traits. The resulting child has a significant possibility of looking fairly unlike you. Unless, of course, your ancestors were all very similar-looking.”  
  
“Uh, nah,” Hank said, just slightly faint. “Mom had dark hair, dad had blonde.”  
  
The vague smile that was on Connor’s face disappeared into a neutral expression. “And yet your hair is grey. Interesting.”  
  
Hank scoffed. “That’s not how it--... Wait, was that a _joke?”_  
  
A smile crept back up onto Connor’s face, but he didn’t respond, focusing instead on the meal until Hank backed off and went to sit at the table. When the food was ready, he poured it onto a plate in one smooth motion and set it down on the table in front of Hank. It was some sort of eggy fridge-junk stir-fry, and it was a lot more delicious than he expected a robot to be able to make, particularly since he hadn’t tasted it once.  
  
“Do you, um, want some?” Hank asked, nudging the plate slightly closer to where Connor stood beside the table.  
  
“No, thank you,” Connor replied, sounding quite pleased that Hank had asked. “I don’t possess taste receptors in the human way, and I’m already well aware of its nutritional content.”  
  
Laughing, Hank said, “If you’re not hungry, just say so.”  
  
“I’m not hungry,” Connor said lightly, and stood there and watched him eat. Hank thanked him sort of stiffly afterwards (it was weird to have someone cook him food; weirder still that it wasn’t even a date), and then they went back to watching TV for a few hours, because Hank refused to even vaguely consider having sex while it was still light out. It just felt like one of those things best left to a darker hour, especially this time.  
  
That was his decision, to _not_ think about sex, but it came as no surprise to him that his brain ignored the decision entirely. They weren’t even watching anything remotely sexy on TV. The idea just wiggled its way into his mind and wouldn’t leave.  
  
Was this _actually_ happening to him? Was he _sure_ he was actually sitting on the couch next to a fucking android that wanted to bear his child? Because it was possible that he’d been run over by a car today and was having a hallucination as he laid in a coma. It seemed like the kind of thing that might happen in a movie. Then again, so did the whole last few years, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t imagined all of that. He was a clever-enough guy, but that sort of crazy sci-fi plot line wasn’t something from _his_ head.  
  
He supposed it all did kind of make sense. (Except for him still somehow being fertile, despite the years of alcoholism and his relative age.) And he _supposed_ that it wasn’t too weird that Connor was enthusiastic about the idea, if he’d really been made for it. (And there was no reason not to believe him on that front; Hank had to imagine androids were too damn expensive for someone to send him one as a gag.) And he _guessed_ there was no harm in indulging the guy, given the possibility of helping fix the world a little bit.  
  
Anyway, Connor… _was_ pretty cute, with his big brown eyes and the little lock of hair that fell down over his forehead. (Almost like someone knew exactly what did it for him. _Good lord._)  
  
He took a deep breath, thinking maybe he could handle this conversation, but Connor turned to him and gave a boyish grin before he could even think how to broach the subject.  
  
“Have you decided that now is a good time to begin?” he asked.  
  
“How the hell did you know that?” Hank shrunk back a defensive half-inch.  
  
Connor nodded towards Hank’s chest. “Your heart rate has increased over the past few minutes, and you’ve begun to perspirate. I would guess that you’re either nervous, or experiencing arousal.”  
  
Biting the inside of his cheek, Hank murmured sort of glumly, “Would you guess it might be both?”  
  
“‘Both’ seems reasonable,” Connor said, no less cheerful. He stood from the couch in a single smooth motion that only a young or artificial person could possibly manage. “Would you like to go to the bedroom, or do you find a different location preferable?”  
  
“Uh. Bedroom’s fine.”  
  
Hank could feel the sweat now, beading up on his chest and forehead. Should he shower first? It just didn’t feel right that Connor (beautiful, calm, not disgusting) should have his first time with a sweaty, nervous, middle-aged divorcee whose only positive trait was apparently his super-sperm. ...Unless this _wasn’t_ Connor’s first time. He’d been awake a whole five days now; plenty of time to have been taken advantage of by whatever scientists created him. Hank wasn’t sure which thought was worse.  
  
He’d paused in the mouth of the hallway, having a mini crisis (just one of many he was sure were scheduled for him), causing Connor to furrow his brow at him. “Is something bothering you, Lieutenant?”  
  
Grimacing, Hank swallowed the confused lump in his throat, which had mixed feelings about the idea of Connor stretched out on an exam table, being ‘programmed’ for his job. “You, uh… Have you done this before?”  
  
“No,” Connor answered. “The program only began two weeks ago, and I’ve only been online for five days. Even my body, in its current configuration, is only several months old. Human gestation, even in an ideal environment, takes almost ten months.”  
  
“Not… _have a kid,”_ Hank clarified. “Just, sex.”  
  
It was an absolute wonder that Connor didn’t seem nervous at all, or shy, or embarrassed, as he answered, “I haven’t. But I believe my performance will be adequate. I’m very knowledgeable about the subject.”  
  
“Right,” Hank said with a less-than-humorous laugh. “Yeah, of course. Because knowledge and experience are interchangeable. Ugh, god.” At least it meant he hadn’t been touched by any skeevy scientists.  
  
Connor tilted his head, giving Hank an almost pitying smile. “If you’re concerned about hurting me, please don’t be. Androids have an incredibly high pain tolerance, due to the way our haptic sensors function. In fact, there’s probably nothing you could do that would cause me discomfort, shy of ripping my wires apart. ...I wouldn’t suggest that. It would impede my function greatly.” Apparently satisfied that he’d explained himself well enough, he lead the way into the bedroom and sat on the end of the bed. All Hank could do was follow.  
  
It was… awkward, yet inviting. Connor’s posture was stiff, and he was still wearing the nice button-down with the blazer, but this was the first time in _years_ anyone had been in Hank’s room for any reason other than repairing a roof leak.  
  
“Would you like me to get undressed, Lieutenant?”  
  
Hank half-turned, trying not to stare. “Uh, just… whatever makes you comfortable. And, um, _god_, don’t call me Lieutenant in my own damn house. Makes this feel even creepier than it already is.”  
  
“I don’t have a personal concept of comfort,” Connor said, though he began removing layers and folding them up nicely to sit on Hank’s bedside table. “And I don’t know why you would think this situation is ‘creepy’. To my understanding, the public consensus is that reproducing is admirable, even or especially when done with purpose.”  
  
“I don’t know where you get your consensus from, but it sounds optimistic to me.”  
  
With his shirt half unbuttoned, Connor hummed. “Is there a problem with being optimistic?”  
  
That was a good question. Not good enough to distract from Connor’s unusually precise method of getting naked, but good enough to consider. “Guess not,” he said eventually, after the button-down was neatly placed atop the blazer and Connor had started on his shoes. The android was reaching for the zipper on his pants (while Hank was still fully clothed) when Hank’s nerves kicked up again and he said, “Hold on.”  
  
Pausing, Connor looked up at Hank curiously. “Is there a problem?”  
  
“No, it’s just…” Hank looked around the room uselessly. No answers or cues were painted on the walls. “You said there was, uh, another way to do this? If I didn’t… If I had an aversion?”  
  
“Yes,” Connor said warily. “But your psychological profile didn’t indicate an aversion to penetrative sex. In fact, it--”  
  
Hank held up a hand to stop him. “Fuck the psychological profile, okay? It’s not that I have an _aversion to penetrative sex,_ it’s just complicated. Humans are weird, alright? Maybe I don’t get a lot of tail anymore, but I’m not really a one-night-stand kinda guy. It’s just… taking me a few minutes to wrap my brain around all this, the whole idea of a sexy robot wanting to fuck me for my DNA so he can help save the world or whatever. It’s weird, so I’m just trying to figure out my options.”  
  
Connor seemed slightly taken aback, but the unease on his face smoothed out to his usual passive smile in almost no time. “It may please you to know that this sexual relationship was not intended to be a one-time situation. Given the complexity of conception, I will most likely require multiple instances of intercourse before I can create a viable embryo. The program suggests a period of two weeks to allow my systems to acclimate to you before making a serious attempt to create a fertile oocyte.”  
  
“So it’s a two-week stand,” Hank muttered, not feeling significantly better about the thought. That might have even been worse. A relationship with a planned expiration date was hardly better than a drunken fling, and without the excuse of alcohol.  
  
“The length of our partnership will depend on the success of the embryo,” Connor said, still paused in the same position, with his hands just resting on his fly. “I’m expected to continue until a viable fetus has been created and passed the ‘danger zone’. A miscarriage is not statistically unlikely within the first three months, so it is possible that we may have to try again, if such a situation occurs.”  
  
“So, what? It could be forever?” Hank asked. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but ‘maybe forever’ was at least more normal than ‘for exactly two weeks’.  
  
“That’s highly unlikely,” Connor said, with a smile that Hank _thought_ was meant to look reassuring for some reason. “My monitoring systems are very intricate, and I should be able to prevent miscarriage. The only reason our partnership might be extended indefinitely would be if the program proves extremely successful, and you remain fertile enough for continued creation of viable embryos. However, I’ll have to make the first one, before I can calculate the likelihood of a second, third, or fourth child. Can I continue undressing?”  
  
Hank stared for what felt like a small eternity. “Yeah, uh, go ahead,” he eventually said, and Connor picked right up where he left off, peeling off his well-fitted pants and folding them up with the other articles. He was fully nude in another few moments, and if Hank thought his brain might catch up enough to let him think about taking off any of his own clothes, he was sadly disappointed.  
  
“Woah, I thought you said you had all the ‘necessary parts’ or whatever.” He stared at what he was _pretty fucking sure_ was a dick sitting pretty in the cradle of Connor’s thighs. God he fucking hoped it didn’t morph somehow, or stretch like a goddamn fleshlight. It would be too painful and weird to think about for him to even get it up. Or, god, was he supposed to use his ass? That was _fine,_ definitely better than the first idea, but was he gonna… was he gonna push a baby out like that? A human would definitely fucking die.  
  
But Connor just lifted up his pretty little dick and angled his hips to show the vulva underneath, and Hank sighed in relief. He could work with a vagina.  
  
“The penis is for aesthetic purposes,” Connor said, fondling it casually. “It’s functional, but in the absence of DNA my ejaculate is without use. It would also serve little purpose to you, with or without DNA.”  
  
Hank couldn’t hold back a laugh at that. “You really _don’t_ know anything about sex.”  
  
For a moment Connor looked disappointed, like Hank’s words had really stung him. But then he smiled and said, “I’m designed to be a quick learner, if you’re willing to teach me.”  
  
And, Jesus Christ, what could Hank say to that but, “Y-yeah, okay”?  
  
Connor was extremely patient as Hank slowly and self-consciously removed his clothes, and he tried not to think that it was because the guy wasn’t interested. He’d said that androids didn’t have desires and preferences, right? But he also obviously wanted to work on this… project of theirs, so that counted as interest. At least, Hank told himself it did. Because otherwise he was going to have to _think_ about all this again, and stripped down to pretty much his birthday suit was probably a little too late.  
  
“So, uh, how do you wanna do this?” he asked, propping a knee against the bed near where Connor still sat primly.  
  
“However you like, Hank,” Connor said pleasantly, and the usage of his name pinged something in the back of his skull that was probably more emotional than sexual, but made his heart speed up a little anyway. “Whichever position or methods will allow you to most effectively achieve orgasm. If you’re not yet prepared for penetrative sex, there are a wide variety of other options. I likely won’t begin compiling an oocyte for at least a week, but it would be beneficial for me to encounter your sperm in one way or another before then.”  
  
Hank sort of hated it, but the science talk was starting to get him hard, mostly because he was too dumb to understand (or care) exactly what Connor was saying, but smart enough to realize it meant he was going to get laid.  
  
“Look, I’ll be honest,” he started, loving the way Connor’s head tilted curiously up at him. “I’m up for pretty much anything, but it’s been a while and this stuff’s hard enough to figure out when your partner _isn’t_ a virgin robot. So maybe you could just, I dunno, make a suggestion. You know what you need. You’re the lead in this little… project, thing.”  
  
Connor seemed surprised by that. “I’m the lead?” he asked. “My programming implies that _I’m _meant to follow _your _orders.”  
  
“Yeah, well I’m not the one… fuckin’... compiling oocytes.”  
  
Humming, Connor appeared to genuinely consider that, even though it was just an excuse Hank had pulled out of his ass to demonstrate how clearly this situation was not balanced in his favor, that Connor ought to take a more active role in it. “Alright,” he said after a moment. “Then I believe we should kiss.”  
  
Hank chuckled. “You don’t have to tell me. If it vaguely resembles something a human might do, just go for it.”  
  
That turned out to be great advice. It seemed that Connor took well to commands, even if that command was just ‘do what you think is best’. Though he didn’t have any personal experience, he did have all his pre-programmed information, the entirety of Hank’s porn searches, and an afternoon’s worth of shitty TV, and between those things he seemed to come to some sort of conclusion about how all this was supposed to happen. It was rather cute that he decided definitively that kissing was the first step.  
  
The kiss was the best kiss he’d had in years. That meant absolutely nothing, as it was the _only_ kiss he’d had in years (aside from Sumo, who only counted if you were into that, which Hank was not). Still, it wasn’t bad. It was stiff and awkward for the space of about ten seconds, but they quickly found the right pace, and _then_ the only thing that made it weird was the way Connor was so _into it._ It was very different from the way his girlfriends had been enthusiastic about making out when they were teenagers, because that was a hormone-driven mess, and this was more of a scientific curiosity.  
  
“You like that?” Hank asked, when he convinced himself to pull away from Connor’s gorgeous mouth.  
  
Connor grinned like a child, very at-odds with the way his lips were shiny with saliva and pink with ...exercise. “Yes, I find it very… invigorating! I knew that my tongue was, in theory, very advanced and capable of complex sensory and data analysis, but this is the first time I’ve had a chance to put it to use.”  
  
“Oh I could think of even better ways to put it to use,” Hank murmured, low and intimate and mostly joking, because he was still in a sort of disconnected state of mind and humor was his only reliable tool.  
  
It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Connor took him seriously. Hank had known him all of half a day, but it was pretty obvious he didn’t exactly get humor as a defense mechanism (or he was ignoring it in favor of sincerity, and, honestly, who did that?).  
  
“You mean oral sex,” he said, with his proud straight-A student smile. “That was going to be my next suggestion.”  
  
_‘I guess kissing’s done,’_ Hank thought somewhat frantically, as he sat back away from Connor in mild alarm. He was of two minds about Connor’s suggestion, thought up in two separate heads. “Woah, that’s… kinda fast, isn’t it?” (_‘Not really,’_ the logical part of his brain supplied. Not compared to Connor’s end goal: getting fucked full enough of Hank’s seed to put together a baby from scratch. Sucking dick had nothing on that.)  
  
Connor’s brows drew down in thought. “I can do it at whatever speed you like. I’m designed not to get tired. ...And I don’t have to breathe.”  
  
Really, it was a damn miracle that there was any blood left in the northern half of his body, but Hank definitely felt his neck and chest go hot. “That’s, uh…” He swallowed the excess of saliva that threatened to turn his words to mush. “I bet that’s really impressive. But, um, maybe we could try something a little different first.”  
  
His dick was still weeping in confusion over why the hell they weren’t taking this beautiful silicone man up on his offer, but Hank couldn’t get past the sheer strangeness of it all, or the underlying worry and guilt. It would have been so different if he’d picked Connor up at a bar or something, even if he’d been drunk off his ass. Even if they were _both_ way too drunk to be making these kinds of decisions. It still would have felt more okay than… this, knowing that Connor was literally made to want if not _him_ then what he could provide (aka his lucky sperm). _‘I was made for you’_ was supposed to be romantic and alluring, but at least ten percent of Hank’s brain (a very vocal minority) couldn’t stop thinking, _‘yeah but did you have any say in the matter?’_  
  
Not that his dick cared, which was why he was going to compromise.  
  
“What did you have in mind?” Connor asked, sounding cautious. Obviously he was aware that Hank wasn’t completely on board yet, and worried that he’d pull the plug on their project.  
  
(Hank was… pretty sure he wasn’t going to do that, because from what Connor had said so far, it sounded like the CyberLife people would just send him on to some _other_ seedy old fucker who happened to still be fertile, and what if they were _worse_ than Hank? At least Hank had _a little bit_ of a conscience.)  
  
If this was Connor’s first time (_completely regardless_ of if he was literally made for it or whatever), then they should take it slow, and Hank said so. He gestured to Connor’s miscellaneous junk, down there between his legs. “Why don’t you try it out for yourself first.”  
  
“I don’t believe this will be useful,” Connor replied, frowning, but he took himself in hand anyway, then looked to Hank expectantly, apparently waiting to be walked through it.  
  
Hank sighed around a grimace (neither of which were particularly exaggerated, because there was only so upset you could be about a situation like this), and figured that he was probably going to have to get in the pool at some point, and wading in with little water-wingies was at least less terrifying than cannonballing off the deep end. And he was already hard as a rock (or maybe some very tight-packed sand) so he ignored whatever inhibitions remained in him and got a grip on himself so he could show the poor inexperienced android how it was done.  
  
Connor was a quick study, and he quickly found out that his dick was plenty ‘useful’, if you stretched the definition of the word a little. “Huh,” he said in surprise, glancing down at himself like-- _exactly like_ this was his first time experiencing the curious sensation of self-pleasure. And for all that he still wasn’t ready to plow into the guy like he’d claimed he wanted, Hank was suddenly beyond excited to see Connor’s first orgasm. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was going to be a sight.  
  
“What do you think?” Hank asked, because he could tell from the slightly unfocused look on Connor’s face that he was feelin’ it, but he wanted to hear the guy’s probably very technical explanation.  
  
“It’s unexpectedly pleasant,” Connor said, almost a question. He caught Hank’s eye. “Are you experiencing pleasure too, Hank?”  
  
It wasn’t as jargony as Hank expected, but Connor’s response was nice. Kind of heartwarming. Or… _something_-warming, at least. “Sure,” Hank said casually (as if he masturbated in front of people all the time, no biggie). He kept a slow, even pace, because Connor was still following his lead, so it hadn’t yet built to that ‘please just gut-punch me and get it over with’ sort of _need_ yet, but there wasn’t really a way to explain that to Connor, who was still in the Before Orgasm era of his life.  
  
At the age of fifty-whatever (_‘fifty-three, come on, you’re not that old’_), Hank could have probably gone on like this for ages. It wasn’t that orgasms were elusive (the FSC’s monthly donations proved he could still catch that lightning in a bottle if he tried), but they didn’t tend to sneak up on him like they did when he was younger. Connor, on the other hand, started to squirm after a few minutes. He obediently kept at the pace Hank had set, mimicking his movements probably perfectly, but he began glancing between Hank’s dick and his face just like Sumo always glanced at the food on his plate, like, _‘hey, are you gonna maybe do something with that one of these days?’._ It wasn’t pleading, but it was getting there. And Hank wasn’t here to torture the poor guy, so he picked up the pace a little bit, to Connor’s immediate relief.  
  
That relief didn’t last long, and soon Connor was giving him the hungry-but-obedient puppy eyes again, which just made Hank laugh.  
  
“New idea,” Hank said, taking his hand off his dick, much to Connor’s dismay as he did the same. With just a touch on Connor’s shoulder, Hank guided them up onto the bed properly, so they weren’t just perched like awkward teenagers having their first same-sex experience. He laid down, lounging against the pillows and headboard, and Connor followed suit. Without further explanation, Hank closed his eyes and went back to what he’d been doing before, affecting the most relaxed posture he could possibly manage. When he chanced a glance a moment later, he found Connor’s hand moving again but his eyes still glued to Hank’s cock.  
  
“What are you doing?” Hank asked, only just a _little_ bit accusatory.  
  
Connor knew immediately what Hank meant and looked adorably guilty about it. “I have to see you to know what to do,” he said, almost reasonably (and a little petulant).  
  
Hank scoffed, though he knew he was grinning. “Bullshit. You’re smart enough to figure it out on your own.” He didn’t give Connor another moment to argue or give him a dirty look before he settled back on the pillows again and returned to his leisurely task. Connor sighed, but Hank could hear him settle in as well, unwilling to let this building new sensation go in favor of complaining.  
  
It was strangely comfortable, especially now that Hank didn’t have to figure out where to look. This was charted territory-- surrounded by some murky waters, sure, but it was something. He let it continue like that, until Connor’s movements changed pace, at which point Hank opened his eyes and looked over, almost completely unashamed because damn he really wanted to see this.  
  
Connor’s breathing had become a little harsh, and Hank thought he could just about hear a whirring noise escape between his parted lips on every inhale and exhale. The little LED under his skin at his temple was flickering faintly, flashes of blue, yellow, and red. He was going at his dick with an expected amount of enthusiasm, but that wasn’t enough for him so he’d pulled his legs up and spread them out just enough that he could get his other hand in there and feel around in what Hank could only assume were, as a good erotica might say, _warm, wet, aching folds._ Connor’s eyes were jammed shut, creases around the edges and on his forehead, and his mouth was in a constant state of motion, biting and licking at his own lips in a beautiful subconscious gesture. Hank was nearly desperate to press his own lips there and give Connor’s searching tongue a distraction, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to see what was coming that way, so he stayed on his side of the bed and watched as each movement slowly ratcheted up to a frenetic pace and Connor’s face scrunched up until his teeth were gritted. When he finally came with a choked-out little cry, so did Hank, and it absolutely did punch him right in the gut and probably every other organ in his body.  
  
A few quiet moments followed as they came down from their respective highs. Connor’s breathing went back to normal a lot faster than Hank’s did, but he still laid there in a daze for a while. Eventually, when Hank felt he could speak without wheezing, he asked, “So, what’dya think?”  
  
Most of Connor’s movements so far had made him seem so human it had Hank doubting he was anything but. But when he turned his head towards Hank, it put him in mind of old Disney World animatronics-- except that the face was still a lot better; kissable, where the others had usually been creepy. Maybe it was the capacity for emotion that did it.  
  
“It was very likable,” Connor said, starry-eyed. (Hank couldn’t help but wonder what kind of look Connor would give him if they actually _touched.)_ “And it was peculiar. I almost felt I had no control over myself. It was like I had to understand this feeling or… something might go very wrong. It created a priority task, temporarily outranking my primary objective. Then when I completed this task, there was a short period where it seemed I had no objectives at all.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s called _afterglow,”_ Hank said with a smirk. “Kinda nice, huh?”  
  
“I think so. I don’t recall ever being without an objective before. It would have been detrimental to stay in that state for long, but as a temporary state I believe it may have helped clear some junk data from my cache.” He blinked a few times, as if he was still in the process of rebooting. Then he glanced down at Hank’s belly, where his spunk was melting into his course hairs. “I see you've orgasmed as well,” he said astutely, and then he reached for it and swiped his fingertips through the mess--  
  
\--and then stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean.  
  
At fifty-something years old, there was absolutely no way Hank could get it up again so soon. But try telling his dick that.  
  
Connor’s face lit up as he apparently savored the flavor, and Hank genuinely expected himself to get a nose-bleed like on one of those Japanese anime and subsequently die of blood loss. It wouldn’t have been too bad a way to go. He choked out half a “Did you really just--?” but the rest of the sentence disappeared into the ether.  
  
“This is fascinating!” Connor said, swiping up another dab of jizz and ignoring the way Hank flinched. “There’s such an enormous amount of data in less than a gram of your ejaculate. It might take me an entire hour to analyze this much!”  
  
“Oh.” Hank wasn’t sure what to say to that, but he guessed he was glad Connor was happy? “Should I, uh, leave you alone then?”  
  
“No, not at all.” Connor smiled in a way Hank thought of as serene. “I can run the process in the background without it affecting my function. Now that I’ve had my first sexual experience, I thought you might be interested in continuing.”  
  
He got points for enthusiasm, that was for sure. “I thought you wouldn’t need any more ‘samples’ for at least an hour.”  
  
“I don’t,” Connor said, and then his smile became just the very slightest bit sheepish. “I just thought it would be enjoyable.”  
  
_Cute. Too cute._ Hank laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure it would be. But there’s a thing about humans, and they can’t just go at it all the time.” (Not for lack of trying, of course. Connor’s little taste-test had given his cock a shock, but there was only so much a sexy scene could do against biology.)  
  
“Oh right. The refractory period.” The very shortest of concentrating looks crossed Connor’s face, there and then gone almost comically fast. “For a human male your age and with your history of alcohol consumption, you may not be ready again for an hour or more. That’s unfortunate.”  
  
“Eh, it’s fine,” Hank said with a shrug, or what he could manage of one when he was still mostly sideways. “I haven’t been able to fuck all day since I was too young to be doing it. I probably oughtta rinse off and take Sumo out anyway.” He glanced around for something to sop up his mess, but he wasn’t in the habit of keeping tissues nearby anymore. He figured Connor had scooped up enough of it that it probably wouldn’t drip everywhere. And if it did, well, whatever.  
  
“May I join you?” Connor asked as Hank stretched at the foot of the bed.  
  
“The shower or the dog walking?”  
  
Connor looked a bit unsure. “Either?” he suggested. “Both. My… pool of experiences is still rather small, and I think it would be beneficial to do some of the things humans do. Maybe even pleasant.”  
  
It had been an age and a half since Hank had showered with anyone, but he figured that was one of the least weird things they were likely to get up to in the next… foreseeable future. So he shrugged and nodded his head towards the door. “Be my guest. Bathroom’s across the hall.”  
  
As expected, Connor followed at his heels as he made his way to the bathroom, watching with mild curiosity as Hank got the temperature just right and stepped in under the spray. The water was lovely on muscles that hadn’t gotten quite that worked up in a while. (Sure, he’d jacked off recently, but this was different. Just looking at Connor had wound him up far tighter than any porn he might have watched. He guessed CyberLife really did a good job. He wondered if he should leave a review.)  
  
“It’s… warm,” Connor said, when Hank stepped back to let him have a turn under the shower head. He closed his eyes and let the water stream down over his hair and face, and Hank had some feelings about the way he looked. It wasn’t sexy like a pin-up might be, even though Connor was very attractive. It was… wholesome, how he seemed so at peace. “I’ve never felt anything so warm.”  
  
“Well don’t hog it all,” Hank groused, even though he knew he wouldn’t mind. “The pipes here suck, so it won’t last forever.”  
  
Connor blinked, and then switched places with Hank. “That’s fine. I can review the memory again later if I need to.”  
  
They didn’t chat a whole lot while they showered off; Hank still wasn’t entirely sure what to talk about, and Connor didn’t seem to mind the silence. When they went back into the bedroom to redress and Connor moved to put the exact same clothes back on, it occurred to Hank (perhaps _far_ too late) that he didn’t know…  
  
...so many things.  
  
Primarily what he didn’t know was if Connor was supposed to _stay_ with him this whole however-long. And if so, had he brought any personal belongings? Because even if Hank didn’t mind this whole ...program-thing, the plan to make a little miracle baby in Connor’s fucking robot-belly (and he sort of _did_ mind? it was complicated), he certainly couldn’t afford to feed and clothe and house a whole ‘nother full-grown adult-like-thing. Not this suddenly. He’d need to shuffle his finances around a little. And if there was going to be a baby around soon? Then he’d need to shuffle his finances around _a lot._ And for that matter, was he ready to be a father again? The last time… hadn’t turned out so great. And now he had ten more years of getting old and tired and sad, with a ghost hanging over his head too.  
  
And Connor… Was Connor gonna be this kid’s _mother?_ How was that supposed to work out? He didn’t think that CyberLife and the FSC had meant for Connor to be his robotic new spouse; that wasn’t how Connor had worded it, and Hank was sure he would have been upfront about it, if that was the case, because he’d been more than unusually upfront about everything else so far. But then was he going to just dump the baby in Hank’s lap and move on to the next one? He wasn’t sure he could handle that, being a single father. True, he still hardly knew Connor at all, but he hoped the android would at least stick around as… as a nanny or something, to help in those dangerous first few years. It just wasn’t remotely reasonable to expect Hank to do all of this himself, and he had more than half a mind to call the FSC and chew them out about the whole thing.  
  
But for now, Connor was just putting his old clothes on, and sure, Hank had worn the same thing three days in a row on more than one occasion, but it sucked not to have options. “Hey, um,” he started, and Connor paused with one leg in his pants, balanced inhumanly well. “You don’t have, like, a… spare pair of clothes or anything, do you.”  
  
“I only have what I brought with me,” Connor answered, and continued getting dressed. “But I don’t sweat, so it’s unlikely I’ll need to change on more than the rare occasion.”  
  
“Ok, right.” Hank nodded, and went to rummage for clean underwear at least, before shrugging on the old shirt and pants. “Well, if you do wanna change, just, y’know, for whatever reason, take your pick of what’s in the closet.”  
  
“Thank you,” Connor said with another bright smile and damn it, Hank was gonna need sunglasses. “Perhaps I will take you up on the offer some time. For the experience.”  
  
It hadn’t been twelve hours yet, and already Hank was getting butterflies from the thought of Connor walking around in an oversized old t-shirt. He knew he was going to be in real danger before too long. The fact that he didn’t know how to get out of it was both the worst and best part.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Switch to Connor's POV for a while here; hope ya don't mind. It's maybe not my forte, but some things needed to be said or seen from his perspective.

Sumo was clicking around in the kitchen and hallway, nails tapping on the floor as he paced impatiently, so Hank wasted no time in getting his shoes and jacket on and grabbing Sumo’s leash. Connor followed him, of course, carefully watching everything he did.  
  
It was nice outside, relatively speaking. It looked like it had been raining earlier in the day, but most of it had cleared away, and the temperature of the evening was mild. There were some other people out and about, and most of them had on only light jackets, in case of some surprise precipitation. Sumo was more than happy to trot down the street, getting his paws damp in the puddles.  
  
Connor had _been outside,_ but really only on his way to somewhere else. And considering the number of places he’d been, those in-betweens didn’t add up to much yet. Walking around just to walk was new to him, and he thought he liked it. It was pleasant to stroll along beside Hank while Sumo guided them down the sidewalk. There were so many things to look at, and combined with the on-going sample analysis and his conversation with Hank, it left Connor feeling busy in a way that he liked. It was productive and stimulating.  
  
They’d gone a few blocks before Hank cleared his throat, obviously the precursor to a discussion of some sort. He didn’t seem able to launch into serious conversations without a warning indicator. “Yes, Hank?” Connor asked, deciding not to prolong the wait.  
  
Hank looked surprised that Connor had pre-empted his statement or question, but only for a moment. “So, what’s this situation supposed to be like? Not the _baby_ thing, but the rest of it. Are you gonna come and go?” (An almost imperceptible grimace crossed his face then.) “Or are you… staying at my place?”  
  
Nodding, Connor confirmed. “I believe the intention was for me to stay in close proximity to you for the duration of our partnership. For ease of access.” (A _less_ imperceptible grimace crossed Hank’s face.)  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Hank said. “I don’t have a lot of room, but I guess you’re welcome to stay. The spare room’s tiny but I’ll clear it out for you and, I dunno, see if I can find a bed on Craigslist or something.”  
  
“That’s not necessary,” Connor told him, smiling politely. “I don’t need to ‘sleep’, and I can enter diagnostics mode in any position. I can stand in a corner when not in use. I _wouldn’t_ recommend leaving me outside, but any interior room is fine.”  
  
_“What?”_ Hank scowled. “No, that’s fucking weird, I wouldn’t do that. You can sit on the couch like a normal goddamn person, _at least.”_  
  
_‘Like a normal person.’ _The phrase sent a warmth through him like he’d stepped under the shower spray again. “Thank you, Hank. I’ll sit on the couch.”  
  
Hank rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to. You can lay down, or… sit on the floor, or in the kitchen. Wherever. Just don’t fucking let me catch you in a corner like you’re in time-out.”  
  
“Noted. I won’t stand in corners unless it’s necessary for my task.”  
  
A long sigh rolled through Hank, and before he turned away Connor thought he could see another eye-roll, the combined actions implying exasperation, but his posture was calm and satisfied so Connor didn’t worry himself. He returned to observing the late-summer evening in suburban Detroit, the place where Hank Anderson had been born and raised, according to his file. He wondered if Hank prefered it to any other place. Was it a good place for raising children?  
  
A tiny line of thought wove through his mind, as difficult to see as a single thread in a larger, distant garment. Would this be a good place for his child to grow? Would the child enjoy growing up here?  
  
Somehow, he lost the thread before he could consider it for long, obscured behind many other calculations.  
  
The analysis of Hank’s semen sample was coming along well. Every single cell he unravelled told a new story about the man: what his ancestors were like, his predilection towards certain temperatures or foods, the damage he’d done to himself through heavy drinking. Some of those stories were… unfortunate _(sad?),_ but they pleased Connor to know. The better he knew Hank, the better he could create a healthy child from him.  
  
“So there’s gotta be some paperwork or something, right?” Hank asked, glancing over at him. “I get we’re kind of under martial law, but the government’s never _not_ liked hiding behind fine print. Did they just forget to send it to me?”  
  
“They should have sent you an email prior to this morning,” Connor replied, “with details regarding the terms of the contract and when you could expect reimbursement. Have you not received one?”  
  
Hank pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped through a couple of apps. “Don’t see it,” he said with a shrug. “Unless… Tch, of course it ended up in my junk mail.”  
  
Connor’s half-second scan of Hank’s screen showed a long list of mostly-unread advertisements, largely for male enhancement medication. The official government email was nested between a Viagra ad and fake Venmo notification. “You don’t have government email extensions on a whitelist?”  
  
“Pfft, not after the spam they kept sending last year,” Hank said, chuckling at the memory. “I figured if they wanted to talk something more important than propaganda, they’d… send me a snail-mail or something.”  
  
“That’s a very old-fashioned way of thinking,” Connor mentioned, belatedly realizing that the comment could sound insulting, which was not his intention.  
  
But Hank wasn’t bothered. “Yeah. It’s gotten me this far in life. Anyway, I’ll read that email later.” He put the phone back into his pocket and shrugged his clothing back into place. “But you’ll tell me if there’s something I really need to know, right? Like if this was secretly a plot to destroy the world or something?”  
  
Connor raised an eyebrow at Hank, trying to decide if that was a joke. “Why would CyberLife or the government want to destroy the world?”  
  
“How am I supposed to know why evil mega-corporations do what they do?” Hank said with a shrug and half of a silly grin.  
  
CyberLife was not a mega-corporation (though the government might be considered one), but Connor didn’t bother explaining this to Hank, as he was fairly sure Hank didn’t care. Instead he answered the previous question. “Then, no, I likely wouldn’t tell you if they were planning to destroy the world. By your implication, a CyberLife that had such a goal would also be evil, and would probably forbid me from revealing their secrets.” He smiled, because it seemed an appropriate action.  
  
“Well I appreciate the honesty,” Hank said with a scoff.  
  
“I’m designed to be honest,” Connor told him, and then added, after a short pause, “Although that _could_ be a lie.”  
  
He found himself smiling harder when Hank stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and gave him a look that married disbelief, exasperation, and appreciation. He opened his mouth as if to give some witty reply, but then shook his head and let Sumo continue leading him. Connor noted the reaction: So Hank liked it when Connor acknowledged the supposed uncertainty of his own nature. That was interesting, but not terribly surprising, from what he’d learned of Hank so far. The man seemed to prefer if he exhibited more human-like tendencies, probably from an innate desire for his offspring to be human-like and therefore normal. He understood that it stemmed from an unconscious assumption that the child would inherit some of his attributes (despite Connor having already explained that it _wouldn’t._ Humans needed to hear something three to seven times in order to remember it, after all).  
  
They had turned and begun to return to Hank’s home when a small, low-priority notification appeared. 

_ [I’ve been sent to the wrong location. I’m returning to CyberLife.] _

It was an update from a fellow android called Simon. So far this was the third android that Connor had heard from. Though at least twenty or more androids were to take place in the program’s trial run, the majority of them didn’t seem to have come onto the network yet.  
  
There was no reason to respond, so Connor didn’t. He was sure that Simon would be able to handle the situation efficiently, although it was unfortunate that he’d been given the wrong data. A short and highly illogical spike of fear coursed through Connor at the thought, and he wondered for a moment if the same thing could have happened to him. But whether or not Hank was the man that the FSC intended to be his partner (and all evidence suggested that he most certainly was), he definitely was fertile and would provide the needed material for Connor to accomplish his task. He felt sorry for Simon and the delay he would face, not finding his partner promptly.  
  
“What’s up?” Hank asked, glancing at him with half-hidden curiosity. “You look distracted.”  
  
“Do I?” Connor was a little shocked to hear such an assessment of himself, because he’d never been distracted before (well, just that one time, the hour before) and, in theory, should never be so busy that a human should notice. He was capable of running a good many mathematical processes at the same time.  
  
“Yeah, you stopped whipping your head around to look at stuff. You get bored of suburbia already?”  
  
“Oh,” Connor said. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped analyzing the environment, but Hank was correct. That process had put itself on pause just after he’d received Simon’s message. “I was thinking about the other androids in the program. One had just been given the wrong location. Upon arrival, he realized that the person he had been sent to was not intended to be a participant. I felt it was unfortunate that his time was wasted.”  
  
Hank slowed down as he listened to Connor’s explanation, reducing their almost brisk pace to something of a stroll. Sumo didn’t seem to mind; he buried his nose intently in a patch of weeds.  
  
“Huh. So are these other androids, what? Your friends? I’m imagining you all sitting in a classroom together before they sent you out into the world.”  
  
“No. I’ve never met them in person,” Connor told him. “I only occasionally receive updates about their progress.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Hank tilted his head, not in confusion, but in a way that Connor’s data showed indicated open interest. “How’s it working out for the rest of them? Anyone on their way to poppin’ one out yet?”  
  
Connor shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I’m only aware of three others, but none of them has had any success. Chloe appears to have been the first to begin, months before the program officially began, as she is functioning as a sort of prototype. Her partner is the founder of CyberLife, Elijah Kamski, whose data discloses infertility. According to her updates, she’s deconstructing his DNA in an attempt to understand and potentially reverse the loss of fertility.” As Hank still seemed to be listening, he continued. “The second android participant, Markus, came online several weeks ago. From his updates, it sounds as if he hasn’t had any contact with his partner.”  
  
“Another ‘clerical error’?” Hank asked, skeptical, as if wondering what sort of incompetant administrators would allow _ two _ of their androids to be sent to the wrong place.  
  
“He arrived at the correct location,” Connor said. “He was given to Carl Manfred, to be partnered with the man’s son. I’m not sure why Markus hasn’t made contact with Leo Manfred. His updates don’t contain very much data.”  
  
“Maybe he’s embarrassed,” Hank suggested. “Y’know, that he hasn’t made any progress.”  
  
It would have been a logical conclusion, if Markus were a human, but Connor knew that couldn’t be the case. “Androids don’t get embarrassed,” he explained. “We’re not programmed with unnecessary emotions like shame.”  
  
Hank puffed air at him, a sort of laugh. “You’re missing out on a fundamental human experience.”  
  
“Do you _ enjoy _ feeling shame?” Connor asked. He was a little confused at the concept.  
  
“Uh, fuck no,” Hank said. “It’s just one of those things you’ve gotta deal with sometimes. Helps you learn how not to be a complete fucking idiot. You mess up, you feel bad about it, so you try not to do it again.”  
  
“I see,” Connor replied, his brow furrowed. In actuality, he didn’t quite understand why someone should need to feel bad in order not to make mistakes, but as making mistakes wasn’t terribly relevant to him, he decided he could figure it out later. Perhaps through watching more TV.  
  
Sumo had lost interest in the overgrown plants on this particular stretch, so he tugged on the leash and the humanoids had no choice but to follow his whim. As he apparently decided it was time to go home, the walk back was somewhat shorter than the journey away, which suited Connor well enough. It was beginning to grow dark, hindering Connor's ability to observe-- if not because it was becoming difficult to see, then because the people going about their business were heading inside and fewer cars were passing. The humans and their animal companions would sleep soon. 

What would he do? Maybe go to the garden and speak to Amanda? Though not a human nor technically an android, Amanda had been the first ‘person’ he’d met, and she still functioned as the conduit through which CyberLife spoke to him. She was, in many ways, the most important person in his life. Or at least she had been, before he’d met Hank. ...Perhaps they were tied in importance. She gave him the context for his assignments, but without Hank there would be no way for him to complete them.  
  
He hoped she would be proud of him for his accomplishments thus far; the precise detail with which he'd analyzed Hank's sample, the relative ease of integrating himself into his partner's life. To be honest, he wasn't sure if she could be proud, or if such an emotion was not in her nature. Perhaps, at least, she would be in approval.  
  
At any rate, Connor decided not to contact her yet. There was more he might be able to do before then, for a more impressive update. And besides, he didn’t want to give Hank any further reason to think he was distracted from his task.


	4. Chapter 4

Connor most certainly was _ not _ distracted from his task. Although there was much in the world and in human mannerisms that he was interested in studying, none of it could ever quite pull his attention away from his primary focus. As soon as they arrived back at Hank's home, Connor was analyzing the situation in an attempt to determine the best time to continue the project. 

If Hank were an android, this would be simple. He would not have a preference about timing; he wouldn't be tired from the walk, or thirsty, or hungry. He wouldn't have to wait out a refractory period. 

But of course, if Hank were an android, Connor wouldn't be here. And so it was definitely a good thing that Hank was human, even if it meant that Connor had to be more patient than his call to accomplish his task generally made him. 

Hank had gotten himself a drink (a soda this time, not a beer; despite his past alcoholic tendencies, he apparently made a good effort at rationing his alcohol allowance these days) and sat down on the couch to flip through television channels. He lingered a few minutes on the news, with updates on the birth rate and what this-or-that company was doing to combat the situation. (The news anchor made no mention of CyberLife; the android-assisted child-bearing program wasn't to be made public knowledge until after the trial stage.) Then Hank watched a few rounds of a competitive game show, before catching the tail end of a sitcom he claimed "was a good one". Connor sat on the other end of the couch, observing and wondering when Hank might be done resting. 

Another half-hour of television programming passed, and then Connor realized rather suddenly that he was no longer interested in waiting. Hank might be capable of watching television _ all night. _ "I finished my analysis," he said, during the commercial break between one episode and the next. 

Confusion was clear on Hank's face for a moment before it was replaced with humor-tinged unease. "Oh right. _ That." _ He swallowed, adam's apple bobbing in the column of his throat. "Find anything interesting?" 

"Quite a few things," Connor said with a smile. His own unease was abating now that they were engaged in conversation related to the program. "I've learned things about you that even _ you _ may not know." 

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Hank asked, though his posture didn't indicate that he really wanted to know. Possibly a conflict of interests. 

Connor determined very quickly that there were indeed probably very many things that Hank would not be pleased to learn about his own body. He picked a fairly inoffensive example. "You have a recessive gene for male pattern baldness. Being recessive, you won't exhibit the traits associated with the disorder. Lucky you," he added with the edge of smirk, like Hank often did when joking in a friendly manner. 

Hank laughed, a surprised bark of noise. "Small blessings, huh?" 

"I understand that hair is sometimes a significant factor when deciding upon a mate," Connor said. "If a full head of hair is a small blessing, what would you consider a large blessing?" 

He rolled his eyes. "Finding a 'mate' at all, I guess," he replied, his tone irreverent, sarcastic. "Hair alone won't do it for most people." 

_ 'Finding a mate at all.' _ The phrase seemed to echo though Connor, processing so much slower than the average piece of auditory data. If Hank considered a mate a blessing (his file didn't indicate that he attended church, but even the colloquial definition of blessing defined it as a special gift that brings well-being), did that mean he thought of Connor in such a way? Did he see Connor as a gift? A favor from on-high? 

All at once, he wanted to know that Hank saw him like that, and yet couldn't find a way to create the task that would allow him to ask. It was as if the action were prohibited, like refusing to participate in the program. There was no option to say no; there was no option to ask Hank about his feelings. It didn't bother him that he couldn't leave the program, as it was his primary objective. But he did find it unpleasant that he couldn't voice this question. 

A silence had fallen between them for just a short few moments, not long enough for Hank to become uncomfortable about it, but just long enough that Connor realized his next question might have seemed sudden to a being whose processing power was relatively limited. "Would now be a good time to continue with the project? It's been more than long enough for your refractory period to have passed." 

Hank stared at him, a little wide-eyed, mouth open very slightly, lips pulling up into a faint smile. "Got a taste for it now, huh?" 

Connor nodded, unabashed though he knew Hank was teasing. "What we did before was pleasing, but I would _ like _ to have a more _ proper _ taste." 

Hank's eyes definitely dilated at Connor's response, which he absolutely noted. Miniscule beads of sweat began to prickle at his hairline, following the expected heart rate increase. "Back to work, huh? Okay, uh… What did you have in mind?" he asked, and his voice had dipped down into such a low pitch that he almost sounded like a different person. 

"Something more physically intimate than our previous experience," Connor replied. He pitched his voice low as well, in a mimicry of arousal, remembering that humans often responded best to a mix of verbal and nonverbal indicators. Then he stood and led the way towards the bedroom. Hank had called him the project lead, after all, and had seemed to like it when he acted autonomously. He only glanced over his shoulder to see that Hank was following, instead of turning fully; he imagined that eye contact might be displeasing to Hank until he were in a more comfortable position. 

Luckily, Hank was in fact following, albeit at a hesitant pace (and grumbling to himself under his breath). Connor waited patiently at the foot of the bed, where they'd begun before. Patience came much easier to him when things were underway. 

Hank's voice was a little shaky but when he came to stand a foot or so away from Connor he said, "Well. Tell me what you need from me, _ boss." _

Connor didn't have to think about it much. He'd known what he wanted next since just after they'd finished the previous time. "I need you to make yourself comfortable," he said. "Preferably on the bed, but anywhere in the room is fine." 

"How comfortable are we talking?" Hank asked, eyebrow raised. 

"Comfortable enough to stay in that position for an extended period of time." Connor paused, considering that any further explanation might be offensive, but then forged ahead, recalling that Hank had been amused by previous perceived insults. "We don't want you hurting yourself, after all. Given your age." 

"Hah. You're lucky you're cute," Hank said, but he moved towards the bed with no further complaint. He only stopped to ask another question. "What, uh, what about clothes?" 

Complete nudity would be more convenient, should they decide to take their intimacy further, but Connor remembered Hank's defensive posture when he'd disrobed earlier. He wasn't sure if it was because of his age or some other supposed flaw, but Hank seemed marginally less comfortable without clothing, and that was not something Connor wanted for his partner, even if Hank's comfort was not _ strictly _ necessary as long as he was at least cooperating. "You can keep them on if you like," he said, though he began to remove a few of his own articles. Just the stiffer outer layers that might bunch awkwardly if he laid down-- the jacket, and the pants. (He’d removed his shoes earlier, following Hank’s lead when they arrived back at the house.) 

Hank hesitated for a moment and then took off his pants with a speed that suggested he was trying not to second-guess the decision. Down to a t-shirt and boxers, he crawled onto the bed and laid himself down. His fingers tapped at the bedspread a few times before he rested his hands on his thighs. "Alright. I'm here," he said, eyes locked on Connor. 

It was pleasing, to have Hank laid out there in front of him, awaiting whatever Connor might do, but the way his eyes flicked across Connor’s face and down to his hands made him too aware of his status as something of a predator in this situation. Hank looked like he was waiting to be devoured, and not entirely sure whether he ought to welcome the fate or not. Connor wanted him to be sure, so he resisted diving straight in. He approached slowly instead, crawling on his hands and knees until he was kneeling over Hank’s legs. (He hoped the sight was appealing to Hank. It did at least vaguely resemble the early minutes of some of the porn videos in his history.)  
  
“I think it would be nice if you would allow me to touch you,” he said, laying one hand over Hank’s thigh, near where his own hand was.  
  
“Touch,” Hank echoed faintly. “That’s not gonna get you what you need though, is it.”  
  
“Not immediately,” Connor admitted, smiling, unconcerned.  
  
The ember of fear in Hank’s eyes (maybe not fear; maybe just caution) was replaced by a spark of interest as he processed the information. He knew Connor wanted his ejaculate; and _ he _ wanted to orgasm-- or at least Connor was fairly sure he did. If one of them got what they wanted, so would the other. Even so, Hank appeared apprehensive.  
  
“Alright,” he said after a moment. “One condition though. Anything you do to me, I get to do to you.”  
  
Connor frowned, not because he found the idea unpleasant, but because Hank didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t necessary. He was trying to apply some sense of human fairness, when that wasn’t applicable to Connor because he _ wasn’t human. _ “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Hank, but unlike a human female, achieving orgasm won’t help me conceive. Anyway, that isn’t what I’m intending to do tonight.”  
  
Hank rolled his eyes again. Clearly it was a favored action. “I’m asking because I _ want _ to,” he explained. “Geez, Connor, nobody ever _ has _ to come.” (Connor wanted to argue, because that was technically very untrue. Orgasm was _ completely _ necessary for pregnancy, at least on the male end.) “But people like it.” He raised a single eyebrow, quite high. “You did, didn’t you?”  
  
“Yes,” Connor answered, unable to find a reason to lie. He’d already made it quite clear anyway, and he knew Hank was just fishing for him to admit it.  
  
Shaking his head, Hank laughed. “You’re kind of new at this, so I’ll let you in on a secret.” He stared at Connor for a moment that felt much longer than its combined milliseconds. “One of the reasons people like sex so much isn’t just because it feels good. It’s because we like to make someone else feel good too. There’s nothing better than knowing you’re the reason someone came so hard they couldn’t breathe.”  
  
“That sounds hazardous,” Connor said, though he assumed it was an exaggeration. “Though… I believe I understand.” The idea made a lot of sense to him, as a being created to serve others. There was joy in doing something for another, completing a set task that someone else would find benefit in. He just hadn’t really considered that humans wanted the same thing. They weren’t programmed for it, after all. Nothing _ made _ them want to do things for others, to cause pleasure in a partner regardless of their own. “But, _ why _ do humans feel that way?”  
  
“Huh.” Hank scratched his beard as he thought about it, like it was something he’d taken for granted all his life, something he’d never had to actually answer for anyone. If this was something every human knew, then perhaps nobody had ever phrased the question. “Mm, I guess because if something’s good, you just… want to share it with someone. Or, I dunno, maybe it’s pride. You know, feeling better about yourself because you made something happen. Maybe it’s somethin’ else. Humans are complicated. I can’t tell you why we do most of the shit we do. Just that we do it, and it works most of the time.”  
  
It was strange to Connor, that humans could _ not know _ how and why they functioned the way they did, but he supposed that was what separated them from androids. Or _ androids _ from _ them, _ as it were.  
  
Hank interrupted him before he could spend more than a moment considering the finer points of either of their behavior patterns. “So, you still wanna do this?” he asked. “I’ll let you do whatever you want. Just don’t do anything you don’t want from _ me. _ Sound fair?”  
  
His existential pondering could wait, Connor decided. He nodded. “Sounds fair,” he agreed, and he reached out to feel the half-hard form of Hank’s penis under the fabric of his boxers.  
  
“Hey, wait wait wait,” Hank said, before Connor could stroke it more than twice.  
  
Of course, Connor froze immediately, worried that Hank had changed his mind. Regardless of what Hank had agreed to, he certainly wouldn’t hold him to it, if he decided he’d rather not. He _ would _ achieve his goal, one way or another, but he wouldn’t make Hank uncomfortable, if he could avoid it.  
  
“Get up closer here.” Hank grabbed a handful of Connor’s button-down and pulled him further up the bed, until he had no choice but to lay down beside him if he didn't want to break Hank's hold. "How am I supposed to touch you if you're all the way down there?" Satisfied, he removed his grip on Connor's shirt and reached down to put his hand on Connor's crotch instead, a rough mirror of Connor's position on him. Then he waited. 

So this was how it was going to be. Connor supposed it was fair, at least within a human definition of the word. And it was fine; after all, he had enough power to process sensation from nearly every part of his body at the same time, so Hank touching his penis wouldn't be enough to distract him from the actions he intended to perform. It wasn't as if sexual sensations were anywhere near as complex as meticulously cataloging human DNA. 

Connor did not consider the fact that they both still had underwear on, and how that might dull the senses. 

Now that he was not being stopped by some complaint or another, Connor set to carefully but firmly stroking the contours of Hank's now-mostly-erect penis, feeling the shape of it under the fabric. It jumped at his touch, which first surprised him and then delighted him. "Are you doing that on purpose?" he asked. 

Hank chuckled. "Nah, it does it on its own. Means it likes you." 

"As if it were its own creature," Connor said, tone more sarcastic than he felt, because he liked that it liked him, even though he knew Hank was joking. 

"Sure feels like it sometimes," Hank said. His cheeks were pink with arousal and a hint of mirth. 

Connor's penis didn't move on its own, but Hank didn't seem upset. He followed Connor's movements-- not exactly, but in a similar way. When Connor stroked, he stroked. When Connor swept a thumb over the head (pleased at the dot of moisture there), Hank did the same. When his fingers found the opening of Hank's boxers and slid inside to properly grasp what hid beneath, Hank's hand went up to the waistband of his sleek briefs (no point in having an opening when androids did not typically need to urinate) and down to take him properly in hand and give a good squeeze. 

That was when Connor realized he was wrong. The drag of Hank's rough fingers on his bare flesh sent shivers all the way up and down his spine and through the steel-alloy frame of his arms and legs, like the faint electricity of Hank's body was traveling through his palm and amplifying when it hit Connor. There was no way, simply no way at all, that he would have been able to do any complex calculations while Hank hand his hand wrapped around him like that. How had he been so wrong? How had he overestimated his own capability like that? The feeling of Hank's touch through his clothing had been pleasant but not distracting. Now he had to consciously redirect some of his background processes to his extremities, lest his own grip falter and he fail horrendously at his stated task. What would Hank think if he failed to please him, especially when he’d been so adamant about it before?  
  
But Hank seemed amused by the way Connor’s hand faltered, how his grip went momentarily slack before he adjusted his focus. “Doin’ alright there?” he asked, teasing, and when Connor’s visual processors managed to get ahold of themselves enough to see more than shape and color, he could see that Hank was smirking.  
  
“I’m… fine,” he gritted out, still reeling from the electric tension that had twisted up his shoulders, just from that simple touch and the firm-but-gentle strokes that followed. “It’s just a little bit stronger of a sensation than I was prepared for.”  
  
“Figured it’d be the same as touching yourself, huh?” Hank snorted, but it didn’t sound derisive.  
  
“I’m not sure what I figured,” Connor admitted. He’d just thought… His creators had implanted so much knowledge into his brain, and then he’d downloaded so much more when he woke. In theory, he had everything he needed to accomplish his task, everything that might possibly be relevant to his expected experiences in this program. He’d thought--  
  
Well, he hadn’t expected self-pleasure to be such a unique and beautiful sensation, and after that it didn't make sense to think there might be yet another surprise, that something could be _ more _ unexpectedly distracting. It almost frightened him, except that the feeling had already spawned that new priority task, the same as last time: _ chase the sensation. _

"Hey, that's okay," Hank said. "Most people can't tell up from down when they're in the middle of fucking.”  
  
“I’m not yet _that_ disoriented,” Connor found himself saying, though the action of speaking felt unfamiliar. He didn’t think on it much; it probably wasn’t a significant error. Instead what he focused on was tightening his grip on Hank’s dick, reasoning that if he performed well then Hank would do the same, as if Hank’s body were a mirror or avatar to his own. Give him pleasure, adjust the pressure, the speed of the motion, and Connor should receive the same. It was like the previous time, but with an added element of complication that required all the more concentration.  
  
Hank didn’t seem to have trouble with it. He still had on his face a hint of a grin which the internet told Connor might be called ‘shit eating’, indicating he was perhaps inordinately pleased about the situation. He didn’t comment or tease anymore though, and as they fell into a rhythm (not quite the rhythm Connor predicted, but within the realm of similarity) the man’s expression slid into something calmer, almost meditative. He periodically murmured praise and encouragement. “Yeah, that’s nice, just like that.” “You’re doing good. That’s perfect.” “God, you feel great. You’ve got such a pretty little cock, you know that?”  
  
Connor didn’t know that exactly, no, but he figured (in a buried process somewhere, where he _could_ figure things still) that it had to be a decent one, since it’d been designed specifically. He didn’t say that though; he didn’t say much of anything, because the grand majority of his current ability was tied up in _feeling,_ and in keeping the steady pace that Hank set.  
  
And he didn’t _need_ the encouragement either, because there was extremely little chance that he would stop touching Hank now. It was the key to that pleasure his priority task demanded he seek, and there was nothing he could do to stop the insistent reminder to _chase, follow, grasp that feeling._ Even so, he didn’t at all mind Hank’s quiet stream of commentary; the deep, warm rumble of his voice filled a sterile emptiness he’d never known was there until it wasn’t. He liked it.  
  
It was hard for him to focus on what he thought Hank might be feeling, when he was so overwhelmed with his own sensations. The self-appointed mission (a sub-mission of his overarching goal) to bring Hank to orgasm was unfortunately buried beneath Connor’s own need for pleasure, and digging it out proved impossible. At most he could get it to share priority with _‘chase’_, the two shifting over each other-- but only when Connor focused on the other one, otherwise _‘chase’_ would overtake it again. So it was difficult to devote the processing power to analyze Hank’s state and estimate how close he might be to ejaculation, and it was _infinitely_ more difficult to do when Hank apparently decided that his own pleasure could wait. (It seemed _he_ had no problem prioritizing tasks. Perhaps it was something he had learned to do over the course of his years; or maybe Connor’s own inability was a flaw in android design. He vaguely, _very vaguely,_ considered filing a report about it. Later.)  
  
“Hey, lay back a little,” Hank said, softly pushing Connor so that he lay flat instead of on his side. “Mind if I try something?”  
  
Finding words was difficult, but he managed after a few stunted attempts. “Okay,” he said, when ‘you have my permission’ ended up being too long for his mouth to handle.  
  
Hank had been leaning over Connor, propped up on one hand and close enough that they could maintain their grips on each other, but then he sat back and pulled out of Connor’s reach entirely, which caused both of his priority tasks to go on red alert. The alarm was sharp but didn’t last for long, as Hank quickly pulled Connor’s underwear down to around his knees. Then he returned to stroking Connor’s erection with one hand, and set the other firmly nearby, at the base of his cock where the skin began to loosen into the folds that protected his vaginal opening. He petted the soft exterior flesh a few times before he started tracing a finger along the seam, gathering moisture and then slipping inside when he’d found enough.  
  
The frustrating thing about the situation was _everything._ It was a truly fantastic sensation, yet it played havoc with his missions. _‘Chase the feeling’_ was extremely difficult when he was entirely at Hank’s mercy and couldn’t touch him to hasten or guide the glide of his hands. He gripped the flesh of his own thighs after Hank had batted his needy hands away from his genitals.  
  
“Hey, quit that. It’s my turn,” he’d grumbled (cheerfully, Connor distantly thought), shooing him away. Admittedly, there wasn’t really room for both Hank’s hands and his own, especially given that Hank’s hands were quite large and Connor’s genitals were of an average size (and rather cramped, given the unusual design).  
  
The other priority mission, the one about making Hank orgasm, was _impossible_ now, and that only drove up the strange tension Connor was feeling. It was highly abnormal to be in a situation where he had several clearly defined goals, but no concise way of achieving them. That he was reliant on Hank, a human, to fulfill his priority mission?  
  
He’d have been more upset about it if Hank wasn’t doing such an effective job.  
  
This was nothing like the time before, despite the touch being technically similar. The angles were different, the speed a little more controlled, but what really set it apart was the unpredictability. Connor’s hands had moved by what a human might call instinct-- the single-minded drive to accomplish a goal so irrefutable that it hardly required conscious thought. _Clearly_ Hank had a goal as well, but he still seemed to have his wits about him, and his movements didn’t stutter when be brushed up against a spot that was surprisingly good, which was perhaps the charm of having someone else be in control of one’s own pleasure, even if it was maddening.  
  
He tried to say something, though he wasn’t sure what it was. Fragments of different sentences, he thought. A plea, a protest, a demand that Hank do… _something, somehow,_ because this was ruining him and yet at the moment it was obvious that he _needed_ to be ruined? None of those sentiments came out, the words caught down deeper than his throat, caught down in that hot and needy space where everything was focused right now. Some little noise escaped him, but it didn’t have any specific meaning. Even so, Connor hoped that Hank would understand it.  
  
Hank hummed like he did understand, like he was pleased at the words Connor hadn’t spoken, and he doubled down on whatever he was doing, making Connor feel like he couldn’t continue existing normally until he was taken apart piece by piece, whether carefully or haphazardly. He didn’t care. He wanted. He just _wanted,_ and it was something he didn’t know how to understand.  
  
And then it was done, like a storm of a short circuit that deleted all his data in a fatal crash and slowly installed it back again. There was a moment of peace, where all he knew was that he had accomplished his task and literally everything else was gone. A wonderful sense of completion, and nothing more. Then the data began to filter back in, bit by byte, and the context made the feeling of accomplishment _confused,_ but that much greater. _Hank_ had done this for him. Hank had given him that sense of completion. Connor had allowed Hank to have full control of his primary mission, and he hadn’t let him down.  
  
He blinked up at Hank, who was smirking like he’d handily won some competition they didn’t know they were having. “Good?” he asked. His right hand gently petted Connor’s softening erection, and his left was still deep inside. He didn’t begin to withdraw until Connor nodded.  
  
“Yes,” he said, his voice sounding mostly normal. And then he added, “Thank you,” because although it didn’t _quite_ do justice to how he felt about this newfound realization that he could trust Hank with his important tasks, Connor definitely felt like he needed to say _something._  
  
“Just glad you liked it,” Hank said, giving Connor’s leg a squeeze as he pulled away and let his sensitive areas readjust to some sort of normality. “Need anything else?”  
  
With all the rest of Connor’s data missing-in-action, he hadn’t thought there was anything else he possibly _could_ need. But now it had faded back in (or his awareness of it, he assumed; unlikely that the data had just vanished) and he remembered rather suddenly that there _was_ something else he needed; a second priority task that now took precedence.  
  
Connor sat up and scooted closer to Hank. “Yes. I need to touch you. You interrupted me!”  
  
Hank laughed. “Didn’t seem like you minded.” He rolled his shoulders and sat up a little straighter on the bed. “But you don’t have to. I told you, it’s nice just to do something for someone else sometimes.”  
  
“I _do_ have to,” Connor said, scowling though he didn’t exactly intend to. He just wanted Hank to understand that this was important to him.  
  
“What, because of the whole program thing?” Hank asked. His expression was caught somewhere between skeptical and disdainful. “Look, I don’t think anyone can fault you for enthusiasm, but is it really gonna matter if you take your time with this? Did your bosses tell you to hurry up?”  
  
_“No,”_ Connor said, and he could tell he was getting frustrated again. “I created this task myself. I _want_ to do it.”  
  
Hank’s skepticism fell away and his eyes went softly wider. “Oh. Yeah, ok. I mean, that’s good.” He breathed a relieved sigh, which Connor echoed. “So where do you want me?”  
  
Connor nodded to the head of the bed. “Lie down,” he said, to keep things simple. “And please don’t interrupt me this time.”  
  
The smirk was back on Hank’s face as he laid down again. “No promises.”   
  
Connor wasn’t going to argue, but he rolled his eyes, which Hank seemed to like, and redirected his attention to Hank’s penis, pulling it out from the boxers' opening. It had lost some of its solidity during Hank’s administrations on him, but hadn’t returned to its completely flaccid state. Connor took it up carefully in his hand and stroked it for a while, as Hank laid back and watched in a state of apparent relaxation. That wasn’t what Connor was going for, but it was good enough to start with, he supposed.  
  
He allowed Hank to fall into a sort of comfortable daze, taking the time to analyze the texture of his skin, the little bumps and ridges, and when it seemed that Hank was deep in contentment, Connor leaned down and took him into his mouth. As expected, the delicate sensors on his tongue processed the data not _better,_ but differently, painting a clearer, more in-depth picture of Hank. To know how this piece of him felt on both his hands and tongue was pleasing, and he looked forward to learning the shape of it in other places as well.  
  
Hank took a sudden sharp breath as soon as Connor’s mouth was on him, and he went tense for a long moment, until he seemed to force himself to breathe more deeply and evenly and he settled back to let Connor continue.  
  
It felt much less monumental than what Hank had done for him, but Hank seemed to be enjoying it, one of his hands coming to pet and brush through Connor's hair after a few minutes had passed.  
  
“That’s pretty nice,” he murmured. “You’re, uh, you’re really not breathing, huh?”  
  
Connor didn’t respond; he just sucked harder, causing Hank to groan.  
  
Despite the amount of pornography he’d downloaded, he wasn’t sure if he was doing this right. After all, it was difficult to study what someone was doing inside of their mouth when it was sealed over someone’s genitalia. He copied what seemed to be the most effective speeds and rhythms, but at best he could only _infer_ from those videos when and how hard to suck, and what to do with his tongue. Even so, it turned out that either he was naturally gifted or fellatio was not particularly difficult, because soon Hank was showing signs of impending orgasm. The muscles in his legs tensed, and his fingers on Connor’s neck began to grasp at him haphazardly, stroking his skin more insistently as he got closer.  
  
“Connor…” he gasped, gripping a handful of hair and holding it tight. “I’m…”  
  
He had his eyes closed, unfortunately. There was no clear benefit to Hank looking at him when he came, but Connor still wanted him to. Why? he wondered. It wasn’t as if Hank didn’t already _know_ that it was Connor who was doing this. Obviously it was. But he wanted Hank to see the proof and understand that he could trust Connor with this, the same way that Connor could trust _him._ He wanted Hank to know that he, Connor, would help him with these tasks.  
  
But as Connor was reaching up to tap Hank on the chest, the man tripped over the threshold of his orgasm. The gush of warm, familiar liquid gave Connor a rush of his own pleasure, the joy of another mission complete and a burst of sensation to analyze. The semen reminded him of the heat of the shower’s spray, but thicker as it coated his tongue and slid down his throat, activating every sensor along the way and lighting up his processes like a cityscape at night. It was so unlike the small sample he’d taken earlier, in both texture and sheer volume of information. It was almost--  
  
It was almost too much to handle. So much new information…  
  
“You okay?” asked Hank, his voice deep and mellow and echoing like a deep pool. Connor hardly heard him and struggled to respond, busy cataloging all the new data. His own voice was weak and far-away when he managed to speak.  
  
“I’m fine, Hank,” he said softly. “Very fine.”  
  
The bed shifted; Hank was sitting up and leaning closer to Connor. “Are you sure? Because you kinda look like you’re having a stroke.”  
  
A stroke was a human thing, but bad and dangerous. Hank was… worried? That wasn’t good. Connor ground some of the new processes to a halt, manually pausing them to give him some room to think. He blinked rapidly, refocused on Hank’s face in front of him. It was flushed pink and looked healthy, if more concerned than Connor preferred. Hank shouldn’t be _concerned;_ Connor was here to help, not cause more problems.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he said more clearly. “I was overwhelmed by the sensation of your ejaculation and the new information from such a large sample. But I’m fine. I am definitely not having a stroke. I just need to learn to manage my tasks more efficiently.”  
  
Hank sighed, as if he was genuinely relieved. “Thought I might’ve broke you somehow, or you were mad at me for comin’ in your mouth.” He grimaced. “I tried to warn you but you were latched on kinda tight.”  
  
Connor laughed, amused by Hank’s rather polite human sensibilities on the subject. “I’m certainly not mad,” Connor assured him, resting a hand on his leg in a way that television implied was companionable between non-romantic sexual partners. “It was my goal to swallow your ejaculate. I need the full sample, after all.”  
  
Face going slightly redder, Hank cleared his throat. “Right. How could I forget. So then, uh, did you get what you need?”  
  
A sample this size would take no less than five hours to analyze, even if he paused nearly every one of his other processes. At the current rate, with the level of multitasking that allowed him to function like a human, he estimated it could take over half a day. So he would say that, yes, he’d most definitely gotten what he needed.  
  
What he said instead was, “For now,” with an impish grin, knowing that it would put Hank on edge in a way he seemed to like. Anyway, that was also technically accurate, as there was still much more to do, and much more he ‘needed’ from Hank.  
  
“Huh, alright,” Hank said, as pleased with Connor’s response as he’d expected. He took a deep, satisfied breath, and collapsed back onto the mattress. “Well hopefully you don’t need any more tonight because I think you sucked me dry. Haven’t had a blowjob that intense since, I dunno, probably college.”  
  
“I’m happy to be of service,” Connor replied, glad beyond his own understanding that he had done a praise-worthy job. Maybe this was a little bit of what Hank had been talking about: wanting to do good for someone else.  
  
“Don’t fucking call it a service,” Hank chided, though it seemed a faint admonishment at best, as he was chuckling softly. “Service is something you pay for, and I sure as hell wouldn’t be able to afford you.”  
  
“Actually,” Connor began, but he paused when Hank’s look snapped back to him, like he knew Connor was about to say something contrary. He waited a moment, to let the silence sink in before he continued: “This is a government funded program, so you _are_ paying for me. With your taxes.”  
  
He smiled serenely, and after a drawn-out few seconds, Hank snorted.  
  
“You’re a goddamn riot. And definitely the second most fun I’ve had on a government dime.”  
  
_Second?_ Connor wondered if he ought to be offended, given the immense expense that had gone into building him. More than anything, though, he was curious what else the government had offered Hank that the man had found more enjoyable. “What was number one?” he asked.  
  
“Squad car burnouts,” Hank said with a grin, as if the answer should be obvious. “Batch of cars before these last ones was way over-powered. Too much rubber on the tires too, so of course we had to modify ‘em a little before letting them out on the road.”  
  
“You took police cars drag racing? Isn’t that illegal?” Connor asked, not sure if he should be shocked or if this was considered normal behavior. It hadn’t been noted in Hank’s file, one way or the other.  
  
“It’s only drag racing if the police catch you.” Hank smirked. “And the police were all busy that night.”  
  
Connor hummed, a mostly-conscious noise. “I wonder what Captain Fowler would think if he knew you’d done such a thing.”  
  
“Is that a threat?” Hank asked, but he didn’t sound remotely threatened. He’d yawned, melting back into his pillow and pulling a corner of a sheet up to cover his midsection. Perhaps he would have had a more defensive posture if he wasn’t still enjoying what he’d called afterglow.  
  
“I have no reason to threaten you,” Connor answered. “Your continued well-being is essential to my job, after all.” He moved some of the blankets around so he could sit down next to Hank instead of at his knees, leaning on one hand in a gross approximation of lounging. “You have my word, Hank. I won’t tell Captain Fowler about your misuse of government property _at least_ until I conceive a viable embryo.”  
  
In response, Hank pushed him down flat with one surprisingly strong arm and mussed his hair roughly. “Misuse _your _government property,” he grumbled happily. His eyes were already closed. He didn’t look the slightest bit concerned that Connor might actually report him. (Of course it was also possible that Captain Fowler already knew.)  
  
As Hank was clearly quite comfortable and likely ready to sleep for the night, Connor sat up from his forced recline with the intention of going to the couch for the duration of the evening, like Hank had suggested. But Hank opened his eyes when Connor began to move.  
  
“Where are _you_ goin’?” he asked, his voice only a little bit sleep-thick.  
  
“To the living room,” Connor replied. “I have an impressive amount of data to assimilate now.”  
  
Hank frowned in a vague sort of way. “You can’t do it here?”  
  
“I could,” Connor said. “But you said I should sit on the couch like a normal person.”  
  
“Yeah, well.” Hank let out a puff of air that was not quite forceful enough to be a scoff. “_Really_ normal would be laying down, in a bed. Anyway, you’re already here. Just make it easier on yourself and stay.”  
  
Connor found it a bit strange that Hank seemed so adamant. It wasn’t as if ‘ease’ was really an issue for him; he wasn’t too tired to move or anything (since he’d paused the semen processing, anyway). Perhaps Hank was really bothered by reminders that Connor wasn’t human, still beholden to that instinct for his future child’s bearer to be as normal as possible?  
  
“Do you want me to stay?” he asked, because he supposed it didn’t entirely matter the reasoning. If a superfluous action like not leaving the bed could please Hank, Connor would be glad to do it.  
  
“Maybe I just don’t wanna feel like a hit-and-run,” Hank admitted, with a touch of wry self-deprecation.  
  
Connor wasn’t sure if he meant a pedestrian who had been hit by a car, or a person whose sexual partner went home immediately upon conclusion (context suggested it was the second one; the internet dictionaries were inconclusive), but he didn’t want Hank to feel like either of those things. “Then I’ll stay,” he said, laying back down and pulling the sheets up around his waist in a suitably human fashion.  
  
“Only if you want,” Hank mumbled, but he didn’t appear interested in determining or enforcing Connor’s desire. His eyes were already starting to slip shut again, and it was only another minute until he was completely asleep.  
  
“I think I do,” Connor said quietly, though he was pretty sure Hank wouldn’t hear him.  
  
The bed was, if nothing else, a familiar place to him. He didn’t at all mind laying there as he began to sort through the data he’d accumulated that day. It had been most eventful. And given his success he thought it prudent to inform Amanda. He closed his eyes and went to find her.  
  
She stood still, a humanoid image in the center of a simulated garden-- a place that looked as expensive as he was.  
  
_“Hello, Connor,” _she said, with a simulated smile. _“Tell me about your first day.” _  
  
_“I’ve successfully integrated with Lt. Hank Anderson,”_ he reported, feeling accomplished. _“We’ve entered into a sexual relationship, and I’ve begun to decipher and assimilate his DNA.” _  
  
Amanda nodded. _“As expected. Keep up the good work and you may be the first to complete your mission.”_  
  
_“I will, Amanda,”_ Connor said, his incorporeal form giving a confident nod.  
  
_“Good. Remember, everyone is counting on your success.” _  
  
The garden disappeared, Amanda apparently uninterested in carrying any more conversation than was strictly necessary. Connor found himself a little… displeased that she hadn’t wanted to hear more details about his day, but she wasn’t a human, nor was she designed to interact with humans, so he supposed he couldn’t expect her to want to chat just for the sake of it, like Hank might. He filed a digital report instead, with a text summary and a more detailed data packet that included unencoded sensory information. Amanda could sort through it at her leisure.  
  
He was about to reinstate the heavy analysis processes again (which would render him otherwise useless for a period of several hours; he hoped Hank would simply think him ‘sleeping’ if he woke and noticed him in that state), when a few new notifications arrived.  
  
_[Congratulations on your success.] __  
__  
__[Good job. I hope to learn from the data you provide.] __  
__  
__[Nice. He seems like a good partner. I hope I can be that lucky.] _  
  
Connor hadn’t expected the androids to be paying attention to his updates, let alone to respond to them with encouragement. He wasn’t sure what to say, feeling a bit lost at the unexpectedly pleasant communication, but as cooperation was a key point in their program, he made sure to at least respond with simple_ [Thank you]_s. These tiny notifications didn’t carry sensory data, but he hoped they understood the enjoyable warmth their messages provided.  
  
With that small pleasure centering him, Connor returned to analyzing his new sample. It was a good end to a good first day on the job.


	5. Chapter 5

_'Well that was a weird fucking dream,’_ Hank thought as he woke up from an unusually restful sleep. He guessed the years of relative abstinence were starting to catch up with him. He hadn’t had a good fuck since his wife left him, so now he was fantasizing about a sexy android? Sounded just wild enough.   
  
He yawned and turned over to shove his face into the pillow. Sumo wasn’t whining, so it wouldn’t hurt to doze a little longer. After all, he didn’t have work today.   
  
Wait. No. That was from his dream-- Fowler giving him a week of PTO so he could ‘get used to’ his new robot fuck-buddy. Right. What a weirdly detailed plot. His dreams rarely included so many real-life elements. If someone he knew showed up, it was usually in the middle of the desert or in Paris or some other place he’d never been, let alone with his boss or a co-worker. He must have been watching something weird on TV before he fell asleep.   
  
The bed was so much more comfortable than he could remember it being any time recently, and Hank thought he might just stay there all day, drifting in and out of sleep until something more pressing arose. He’d consider calling Fowler later and claiming one of his remaining personal days.   
  
Maybe he’d fall back into the dream…   
  
If he was lucky…   
  
A knock on his bedroom doorframe shocked him out of his sleepy daze. His heart pounding a mile a minute, he was suddenly awake enough to remember _everything._ His eyes flew open to find an unfairly attractive and very real android standing in the doorway.   
  
“Good morning, Hank,” Connor said with a smile that made it look like he was, for some unfathomable reason, actually pleased to see him. “Did you sleep well?”   
  
“Uh… yeah,” Hank answered, rather than saying _‘holy fuck you’re actually real’,_ which was what he _almost_ said. The android didn’t need to know he was having a little bit of a crisis right now.   
  
“I’m glad,” Connor said, and Hank had to believe him, the way his eyes almost sparkled in the faint morning light shining through the bedroom window’s blinds. “I’m going to make breakfast soon. Will you get up and eat with me?”   
  
Hank groaned, the restfulness leaching out of him as the real world got a stronger grip on him. “Sure,” he said. “Just, uh, gimme a few minutes.”   
  
Connor nodded, perfectly polite. “Of course,” he said, and then retreated back into the hallway. Hank could hear him in the kitchen a moment later, opening and closing cabinet doors.   
  
Oh lord. The world was really turning into an unrecognizable place these days, wasn’t it? A robotics company had teamed up with the American government to specially design this gorgeous _thing_ whose only job was to have his baby. And now that gorgeous thing was making him breakfast, like he hadn’t just given Hank the blowjob of a lifetime the night before. Connor clearly didn’t know what that kind of thing did to a man, if he was expecting Hank to just get up and go about some sort of domestic morning routine.   
  
But that was the truth, wasn’t it? Connor didn’t know _a lot_ of things. He was only five days old. Maybe six now, but even so. It took most people decades to learn how to form good relationships and understand their partners’ inner workings, but CyberLife or whoever had just thrown Connor out into the world and said, “good luck, go get fucked, don’t come back until you’ve proven your worth as a baby-carrier”. Didn’t even give him time to learn who he was as a person, what he _liked,_ what he _wanted._ Fuck. Was the birth-rate situation really that dire? Or were these scientists just grade-A assholes? Had they not _talked_ to Connor for more than a few minutes? Enough to see that he had a fledgling personality? How could they not want to take the time to nourish that? He wasn’t a Roomba, or an autonomous car! They couldn’t just release him into the wild and expect him to go about his job like some sort of slave!   
  
They had, though, if Hank was understanding the situation correctly. That was exactly what they’d done. And probably the craziest part was that Connor didn’t seem to mind one bit. He didn’t mind being saddled with a boring old man like Hank; didn’t mind being used for someone else’s sexual pleasure; didn’t mind doing mundane shit like making breakfast, apparently.   
  
_‘Will you eat with me?’_ he’d asked, like he actually wanted Hank to get his lazy ass out of bed and provide him with some sort of company. Wasn’t that kind of a human thing? Wouldn’t it be way easier for Connor if Hank just stayed out of his way until it was time to ‘get down to business’? If that was what he was created for; if having Hank’s kid was really Connor’s one desire.   
  
“Ugh,” Hank moaned to himself. Connor was still such a goddam mystery to him. The whole _program_ thing aside, he didn’t understand Connor anywhere near enough for the guy to be making him breakfast. (Even if he _was _starving. This whole multiple-orgasms-a-day thing could be a new weight-loss trend. He was feelin’ it.)   
  
Well. Laying around wasn’t going to benefit anyone, least of all his stomach, so Hank rolled out of bed and threw on the pants that had ended up in a pile by the bedside last night. His t-shirt was wrinkly, but he didn’t give a shit. It was clean enough for lounging around the house.   
  
As expected, his new house guest (or housemate, maybe?) was busy with a pan on the stove, cracking eggs into it and then tipping a diced onion and a can of tomatoes into the mix. He looked… just _too fucking good,_ in the same pants as the day before, but with the button-down shirt wrinkled all to hell, and his hair in roughly the same state. He looked about twice as debauched as he should, given that what they’d gotten up to the night before wasn’t too strenuous. He looked like a dream that rarely happened in real life _or_ porn, the one who stayed not just long enough to blow your mind for a night, but long enough to remind you it wasn’t a dream. He looked better in the warm light of morning.   
  
“Hey,” Hank said in greeting, coming up behind Connor but not too close.   
  
“Hi,” Connor replied cheerfully, though the simple word sounded kind of odd coming out of his usually-formal mouth, like it was an experiment. “I hope you like omelets. They were the most nutritious breakfast item I could make with the available ingredients.”   
  
Hank leaned against the counter a few feet away. The omelet-in-the-making looked fine. Would’ve looked a little better with some bacon, but beggars can’t be choosers, and he said as much. “It’s food I didn’t have to cook. I’m sure I’ll like it plenty. Normally I just have toast or something quick, if I don’t stop by a donut shop instead.”   
  
Connor hummed. “Donuts don’t seem very healthy. I’m surprised they’re categorized as breakfast foods and not desserts.”   
  
“Eh. Sometimes you need a boost to get through the morning,” Hank explained.   
  
“I see,” Connor said. He flipped the large omelet, and Hank was impressed that he kept it in one piece. Robot skills, he guessed. “Your DNA did indicate that you struggle with mornings, so I suppose that isn’t surprising.”   
  
‘Struggled with mornings’ was an understatement, but he probably didn’t need to tell Connor that. He did nudge him over slightly though, so he could dig in the cabinet for the coffee tin and take it over to the machine. If the guy stuck around for more than another few days, he was likely to figure out just how true his analysis was. But still, hating mornings wasn’t the whole reason for sometimes treating himself to a donut before work. “Yeah, sometimes it’s not really about the mornings though. It’s about gearing yourself up for the whole rest of the day and the shit you know you’re gonna have to face.”   
  
“You mean your job?” Connor asked over his shoulder. “I understand that police work can be very stressful.”   
  
“No kidding,” Hank said with a laugh. He didn’t provide any details, but there were plenty of them _to_ provide, if he wanted to.   
  
A quiet moment passed, and then Connor said softly, “Then I hope this week can be a nice, stress-free break for you.”   
  
Hank wasn’t sure about _that,_ because stress-free was asking kind of a lot of an entire week. Anyway, he was fairly certain he was going to have at least one existential crisis per day, on average, with Connor constantly underfoot and/or at his fingertips. It would just be a different kind of stress than he usually got from his job. Maybe better, since probably nobody was at major risk of being murdered, but still nowhere near stress-free.   
  
“It’s been alright so far,” he said though. No need to burden Connor with his own doubts when the poor android probably had enough of his own (or _should have)._   
  
A few minutes later, Hank was sat at the table with a cup of fresh coffee and a tablet full of stale news (it was all same-ol’-same-ol’ these days), when Connor set a plate of omelet in front of him and then sat down with a second plate on the opposite side of the small table.   
  
“I thought you didn’t have to eat?” Hank said, raising an eyebrow at the android and his perfect posture.   
  
“I don’t,” Connor replied, and there was an obvious ‘but’ hanging off the end. “I shouldn’t _need_ to eat until a day or two before conception, to begin fueling the production of blood cells.”   
  
“...But…?”   
  
Connor looked sheepish as he admitted, “But I thought it would be a nice experience. To share. With you.”   
  
Wow, Hank thought. That was… Was that as _raw_ as it sounded? He could feel himself blushing and ducked his head as if he had a snowball’s chance in hell to hide it. Connor really just wanted to eat with him? And somehow that made him feel almost as hot as the memory of Connor going down on him. Maybe this was just his maternal programming or something. Hank knew he probably shouldn’t be letting himself get so affected.   
  
Head still tilted down, he pushed the salt and pepper Connor’s way. “Well if an _omelet’s _gonna be the first thing you eat, at least make it worth your time.”   
  
For a moment, Connor stared down at the shakers like he wasn’t sure what they were for, or like maybe Hank was giving him some very questionable advice. But then he blinked and shook a small amount of each onto his perfectly-cooked omelet. He picked up his fork, and looked at Hank for permission before cutting off a forkful and taking a delicate bite. His eyes widened in a way that Hank could now recognize as ‘I am experiencing something strange and new and possibly wonderful’. The fact that it was about eggs only made it a little less awe-inspiring to see.   
  
“What an interesting texture,” Connor said after he’d carefully chewed and swallowed the bite. He stared down at the plate like he thought the omelet might start to explain itself, then looked up at Hank with a tilted head and slight smile. “It’s incredibly complex. Very different from your semen though.”   
  
Hank choked on his over-large bite of egg. “I sure fucking hope so!” he said once he could breathe. Then despite what he considered was probably a good idea, he found himself asking, “...Better too, I hope?”   
  
Connor shrugged. “Not really. It’s just more nutritionally sound.”   
  
“You’ve got some weird tastes,” Hank muttered to his fork, really trying not to think about the fact that Connor apparently considered eggs and jizz roughly as enjoyable as each other. He really, really, _really_ tried not to think about making Connor ‘breakfast’.   
  
“Actually, I have no taste.”   
  
“Lucky for me,” Hank said, laughing. Heaven forbid he get sent an android who had an actual _opinion_ about his partner. Might’ve made Hank have to work for it.  
  
But no, they’d given him a robot so perfect that Hank had to wonder just _how_ much they’d been spying on him. His porn and internet searches could only tell so much, and he was pretty sure he’d never searched for any sexy maid porn, yet as he ate his omelet and his gaze drifted around the room he could see that his guest had clearly tidied the place up.   
  
“Did you _clean?”_ he asked around a mouthful. (Connor _had_ to like him, so who cared if he talked with his mouth full?)   
  
“A little,” Connor answered, glancing around himself. “I only woke an hour and forty-two minutes before you, so I haven’t had time to get to everything yet.” He looked at Hank in concern over whatever face he was making. “You don’t mind, do you?”   
  
Hank shrugged one shoulder. “I guess not. It’s just… that’s not part of your, uh, mission, right? Or is it? I mean, are you _supposed_ to do maid shit? Cooking and cleaning?”   
  
“I… don’t think so?” Connor said, but he didn’t seem totally sure. “Neither cooking nor cleaning is part of my primary objective, but sometimes they appear as small, low-priority tasks.”   
  
“Huh.” That sounded sort of like programming to Hank, but he figured maybe it wasn’t really any different from… not being raised in a barn, or whatever his mom might’ve said. The kind of thing he’d clearly forgotten since it had ceased to matter. “Well you don’t _have_ to,” he said, and then wondered just how often he was going to be telling Connor that.   
  
“Thank you for the permission,” Connor said with a smile, taking another small bite of breakfast and chewing it far more carefully than was probably necessary. “But I find that I _want_ to complete these tasks. I estimate that your life would be at least marginally easier if your home were in proper order, and it seems like a decent way of expressing my feelings of gratitude for your partnership, doing these small acts of service.”   
  
_‘Acts of service, huh?’_ What, had Connor been uploaded with The Five Love Languages or something? Hank held back a snort. Of course that was the one that would come naturally to him, being… what he was. But which one would he like in return? What were they again…? Words of affirmation… quality time… gifts… Touch. Yeah, right, of course. Touch sure as heck seemed like the one he wanted, but did he _want_ want it, or did he just think he was supposed to?   
  
Well, even if Connor would have loved for Hank to reach out and pat his arm or something, it was just, yeah, maybe a little too early for that. Sex was one thing; being touchy-feely in the middle of the day was something else. So he was gonna have to deal with whatever Hank could muster for now.   
  
“Well, uh, thanks,” he said, because that was what he could muster. Connor seemed to think it was enough though; he smiled back and promised he’d get to the rest of it when time permitted. They had a bit of a back-and-forth of ‘you really don’t have to’ and ‘it’s no bother’ and ‘look, I swear the house’ll be fine if you don’t dust it every day, _believe me’_, and Hank only really relented when Connor said, quite adamantly, “It would make me happy to do these things for you.” Because, what? Was he supposed to tell him, ‘no, you can’t be happy!’?   
  
“Alright, do what you want,” Hank said, raising his hands in front of him. “Just don’t overdo it.”   
  
“It would be difficult to ‘overdo it’,” Connor said with a level of confidence that Hank found attractive, even if he was sure the android was wrong. “I’m designed to handle many times the stress that a human is capable of withstanding.”   
  
Hank didn’t bother arguing that. He just said, “Uh huh.” He figured they’d cross that bridge when they got to it, but he would be willing to bet anything that even an android had its limits. Sure, household chores probably wouldn’t exceed them, but he wouldn’t put it past Connor to try to fix his car or something after he’d run out of laundry and dishes to occupy himself with.   
  
The guy was probably gonna need a hobby. He remembered when his wife was pregnant. Her job had coerced her into taking the last two months off, and she just about went stir-crazy, even with over thirty years of experience in keeping herself entertained. What was a week-old android supposed to do? Watch TV? He didn’t even have a job to occupy him for the first six months. Having this baby _was_ his job. Honestly, it sounded shittier the more Hank thought about it.   
  
“Do you really wanna do this?” Hank ended up asking before he even realized he was thinking it.   
  
Connor seemed confused that Hank had asked such a thing. “As I’ve said, it’s not my highest priority, but I do believe I will enjoy making your living space more comfortable.”   
  
Hank bravely resisted sighing, but only just. It would be so much easier if Connor would just come out and say, ‘Actually no, I don’t want to be a slave forced into bearing a child for a man I hardly know,’ you know, like _most_ people would say. Because then Hank could feel properly bad about the whole thing, and then… well, he wasn’t sure. Not send Connor back, because then he’d just be sent out to some other dickhole. Maybe just… let him hang out and _not_ feel like he had to fuck Hank because it was his duty?   
  
“That’s not what I meant,” Hank said, sorry that he was being short with Connor but, damn, it was almost too hard to _think_ about the situation, let alone actually sit Connor down and try to have a serious adult conversation with him.   
  
Frowning, Connor said slowly, “Then you mean working on this project with you.”   
  
_‘If that’s what you want to call it,’_ Hank thought, not really sure that ‘project’ was the right word for something they’d both been coerced into.   
  
“Yes, of course I want to,” Connor answered, before Hank could protest any more. “It’s a good use of my particular abilities, and should be of great benefit to humanity. Why _wouldn’t_ I want to do this?”   
  
What could Hank say? How could he explain to Connor that this situation wasn’t normal and that most people wouldn’t let themselves be _used_ like this? He clearly didn’t know any better, but the worse thing was that teaching him to see what a horrible lot he had in life would probably just make him upset, if not put him in danger with his… employer.   
  
“Just… what if you decide there’s something else you’d rather do?”   
  
“Like what?” Connor asked.   
  
"Like…” Hank sighed. _Like anything,_ he thought, but he knew Connor wouldn’t be satisfied without examples. “Like… traveling. What if you want to go see the world instead?”   
  
Connor seemed unconvinced. “I don’t see why having your child should stop me from traveling, if I wished. Humans frequently travel both while pregnant and after giving birth. Why? Is there some place you'd like to go, Hank?”   
  
“What? No. Don’t turn this on me.” He grimaced at the change in direction. “This isn’t about what _I_ want, it’s about what _you_ want. Maybe tomorrow you wanna fuck off somewhere without me, make your own way in life, meet a person you actually _want_ to spend your time with. All I’m saying is you should be able to.”   
  
Confusion (and maybe just the first inkling of annoyance) was written on Connor’s face. “But why would I want to do that?”   
  
“Why would you want to do _this?”_ Hank retorted, instantly regretting the mood he’d worked himself up into and the way he knew he was scowling at Connor, who sure as fuck hadn’t done anything to deserve him being a grumpy asshole.   
  
But, of course, somehow, Connor wasn’t offended by Hank yelling at him. He was asked a question, and he answered it. “Because being with you has been enjoyable,” he said simply. “You’ve helped me learn and experience many new things that aren’t strictly related to my end goal, and greatly exceeded my expectations of a partner.”   
  
The fight left Hank; Connor’s response was just too matter-of-fact to keep him heated. Now he just felt tired. “Maybe your expectations were too low.”   
  
“I’ve considered this,” Connor replied, looking vaguely uncomfortable about admitting it. “It’s possible that I could have a very similar experience with a different partner; perhaps even a better experience. But the possibility doesn’t change the experiences I have already had, and the positive association with you that has been created in my programming core.”   
  
“Which means?” Hank asked, a little hesitant.   
  
Connor smiled softly, too lovely in the waning morning sunlight. “You’re the one I like,” he said. “You’ve been kind to me, and I want to continue experiencing things with you.”   
  
Despite the frown he was probably still wearing, Hank could feel Cupid’s arrow piercing his chest at the sheer sweet honesty of that confession. Fuck. Fuck, _fuck._ His heart was beating so hard all of a sudden. No girlfriend or boyfriend he’d ever had, even when they were enthusiastic young teenagers, had ever been so damn straightforward. This might’ve been a level of innocence unknown to mankind.   
  
“God,” Hank said. He took a deep breath. “That’s really what you want?”   
  
Connor nodded slowly. “I _think_ so.” Before Hank could protest about ‘think so’ not being good enough, Connor rushed on. “As I explained before, I was led to believe that androids could not have desires. And maybe we really can’t. But I’m quite certain that if I were to be reassigned elsewhere, I would be extremely disappointed. I don’t find the concept enjoyable to even think about.”   
  
One side of Hank’s mouth quirked down into a frown as he considered Connor’s answer. While maybe he would have liked to have a more definitive response, like ‘yes Hank, that’s exactly what I want’, he realized that Connor was working with some severe limitations right now, and ‘I think I want this’ was _so_ much more than he should be able to expect.   
  
“Yeah, me neither,” he said, and the way the relief washed over Connor’s face both made a warmth flush through Hank, and made him worried that he’d stressed the poor guy out. “What, did you think I wanted you to leave?”   
  
“No. ...Maybe. The evidence was not entirely conclusive.” Connor gave an uneasy, apologetic smile. “Your enthusiasm for the project has been inconsistent.”   
  
Hank shrugged. Wasn’t that just life. “It’s normal to second-guess things sometimes. Especially when it’s kind of a big deal. Sorry if I, uh, made you worry I was gonna kick you out or something. I’m not gonna do that, alright? Even if you don’t decide to, y’know, go through with all this.”   
  
That seemed like roughly what Connor wanted to hear. Maybe words of affirmation would work on him just fine. Even so, he said (with maybe too little disappointment, given what he’d just professed to wanting), “Thank you. Of course, I would have to kick _myself_ out, if that were the case. I have a purpose after all.”   
  
There was only so much they could argue about this (especially since Connor wasn’t arguing at all, just stating what he thought of as facts), and only so many times that Hank could tell Connor ‘you don’t have to do this’ before it would turn too stale to mean anything. But he was still bothered by a feeling he couldn’t quite ditch, that Connor had to secretly hate being forced into this, because it wasn’t even like he was gonna get anything out of the situation except probably… discomfort? It wasn’t like he had a biological imperative to pass on his genes.   
  
“Yeah, but why?” he asked. His omelet was mostly done so he nudged it to the side and folded his arms on the table. “What’s in it for you?”   
  
“Satisfaction,” Connor said.   
  
Hank scoffed. “You couldn’t be satisfied from some other job? Y’know, maybe one you chose for yourself?”   
  
It wasn’t that Connor’s face transformed or anything, but the subtle expression that passed over it for a moment spoke of a great capacity for shrewdness and intelligence. “Would _you _find satisfaction in a different job, Hank? Would you be comfortable in knowing that your talents were going to waste, and that somebody might not receive the justice they deserve because you had diverted your attention elsewhere?”   
  
Well the answer was a resounding no, obviously, or Hank would have quit the force ages ago. He wouldn’t have taken Connor home at all if he hadn’t been pretty attached to his job. (And clearly Connor knew that. He’d read all the relevant files, of course.)   
  
“So you’re saying it’s your calling,” Hank asked as much as said.   
  
Connor seemed to consider that for a moment, maybe weighing the colloquial definition of the word against its etymology. “Yes,” he said definitively. “I feel innately compelled to do this. I believe it’s the best way for me to help humanity.”   
  
Though on one hand, Hank wanted to argue that it wasn’t Connor’s fucking job to help humanity when, a. he wasn’t even human and, b. he hadn’t asked to be a part of this messed up world, he also (unfortunately) ...totally understood. He liked to kid himself sometimes that he didn’t give a flying fuck what happened to the world or its dwindling population, but that was patently untrue and in the privacy of his own mind (especially when faced with a logical android’s too-reasonable arguments) he had to admit that he kind of obviously _did._ So there was pretty much nothing he could say.   
  
(And he couldn’t, or at least _wouldn’t,_ argue that Connor’s being ‘innately compelled’ was probably programming, because if it _was _then probably so was everything else that made him who he was. That was like saying that love wasn’t real because it was just a bunch of chemicals in your brain, like everything else. It was a pretty shitty and useless argument.)   
  
“I guess it’s not the worst thing,” Hank said after a short while, when he couldn’t think of any better way to respond.   
  
“Not at all,” Connor said cheerfully. “I can think of many tasks I could have been created for which would be less enjoyable and ultimately less helpful to humanity. I could have been created for war.”   
  
Hank laughed, not because it was funny but because it was true. “Yeah, if it were any other decade.”   
  
So, he still wasn’t totally sure, but Hank figured that was good enough for now. He couldn’t begrudge Connor his calling, even if he personally thought it was a little crazy. Maybe it wouldn’t have been crazy if Connor was human. Plenty of people were making baby-making their life’s goal these days, after all. Maybe _that_ wasn’t the issue. No, of course it wasn’t. Hank probably would have balked if Connor was brought in as an officer and claimed _that_ was his calling, wondering how a week-old robot could possibly know that it wanted to do something that was often more pain than gain. And none of that was Connor’s fault, obviously. He was just working with what they gave him, same as anyone else.   
  
Anyway, it was fine enough for the time being, so they went back to finishing breakfast, and Hank got up off his ass and helped with the cleanup so that Connor didn’t feel compelled to handle it all by himself. Worried that the android might immediately go back to doing chores after their meal, Hank attempted to cut him off before the idea could weasel into whatever functioned as his brain, and asked if he’d like to go out with him and Sumo.   
  
“I let him into the back yard before you got up,” Connor said. (Belatedly, Hank realized it was obvious; Sumo _never_ waited patiently for him to be done with breakfast if he had to piss, which Hank didn’t blame him for.) “I didn’t know if he was allowed to go out back, but a quick scan of the yard proved that it was mostly safe for a dog his size. There was one rusty nail in the grass, but I threw it away. The small holes in the fence are only large enough for a cat to get through.”   
  
“Uh, thanks, yeah. He’s allowed out there,” Hank told him. “He just likes going for walks better because--” He shrugged. “--it’s nice to get out of the house sometimes, I guess?”   
  
He could see Connor processing the new information. “I can understand that,” he said, though Hank wondered if _he_ felt that way. He sort of hoped Connor _didn’t_ really get the need to get out of the house, just for his own sake in the coming months. Without a job or a hobby to take him somewhere else, he might get cabin fever. Maybe that was what Hank _ought_ to be focusing on here; not whether or not they should do this thing, but just… how to make it go smoothly and keep the android from regretting his non-decisions.   
  
Hank chewed on the inside of his lip for a minute before he asked, “So, anywhere _you_ wanna go?”   
  
“You’d leave it up to me?” Connor asked, as if worried that he might make the wrong choice about this _absolutely vital_ decision. “If it’s Sumo’s walk, shouldn’t he choose?”   
  
Rolling his eyes, Hank laughed. “He chooses most of the time. Drags me all over the damn place.”   
  
“Huh.” Connor’s gaze became unfocused as he considered his options, or maybe his desires. (Though Hank wondered if he just didn’t know what his options _were._ He probably had a GPS up in that head of his though.) Finally he tilted his head at Hank, just a little. “Is there somewhere within walking distance where there are a lot of people, but where dogs are allowed?”   
  
A smirk that wanted to be a full-blown grin crept up on Hank’s face. “Sounds like you and Sumo have similar taste,” he said, as he got up and started toward the dog’s leash, which of course immediately notified the canine that something was afoot. He scrambled up and went to join Hank by the door, whapping furniture with his dangerously strong tail.   
  
“May I ask where we’re going?”   
  
Hank shrugged, kneeling to readjust Sumo’s collar. “‘Bout the only place that meets your specific requirements is the park. Lucky for Sumo, that happens to be his favorite place in the world.”   
  
Connor brightened considerably, posture straightening (somehow; like he ever slouched?) as he moved to join them in the foyer. “I’m excited to see it,” he said, smiling, and Hank was glad he was busy with Sumo so he didn’t have to _look._ “If Sumo likes it, I’m sure it’s a wonderful place.”   
  
It was hard to tell if Connor was being completely sincere or just very polite, but either way, Hank hoped he wasn’t getting his hopes up over a _park._ It was just a park, after all. Even the nicest one within walking distance wasn’t exactly a botanical garden. But they all had people (or they should, since the weather was good), and dogs were allowed there, so maybe it would tickle Connor’s fancy well enough.   
  
“Guess you can decide for yourself when we get there,” he said, instead of prompting the android to make any pre-judgments.   
  
They piled out onto the street a minute later, Connor again following obediently at his elbow. It was lucky that his pool of experiences was so small, because Hank recognized that dog-walking was not what most people would consider particularly fun.   
  
_‘Oh well,’_ Hank thought, as he followed Sumo down the sidewalk and through the late-summer, late-morning stillness. _‘I’ll take him somewhere nicer another time.’_   
  
He didn’t, at the time, think of the hypothetical future outing as a date, but he considered restaurants and popular attractions anyway. It was only natural to want to share nice experiences with someone when they had nothing, wasn’t it? Or maybe he just wanted to pay Connor back for putting up with all this shit.   
  
It didn’t hurt that the mental image of Connor in the low light of a fancy restaurant or an aquarium was so appealing. Maybe this whole situation was supposed to be some kind of ‘duty’, sure, but that didn’t mean Hank couldn’t allow himself to enjoy it, maybe just a little. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which words are used, and Hank calls himself a dumbass at least three times because it's true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 95% of this chapter was unplanned. It was supposed to just be a short scene attached to the next chapter, but then they started _talking_ and I dunno what happened. So, uh, plus-one to the total chapter count, I guess. Pfft.

Connor didn’t exactly seem _over_joyed when they arrived at Sumo’s favorite park, which was perfectly fine because Hank would have been a little concerned. But he did seem happy, a little bit more than politely curious as he gazed around at the scenery and the few people scattered around the area.   
  
It was sort of early, and a week day, so there weren’t all that many people around. There definitely weren’t the “lot of people” that Connor had requested, at least not yet.   
  
“I don’t usually come here so early,” Hank said, unclipping Sumo from the leash and sitting down on a bench. (It wasn’t technically a dog park, but Sumo was well-behaved so Hank wasn’t worried about him chasing any of the park’s other patrons.) “I forgot it’s kinda empty until after school gets out.”   
  
“That’s alright,” Connor replied. He sat down beside Hank (close, but not intimately so), and watched Sumo trot around and smell bushes. Then he looked over at one of the few families that were sharing the park with them, a couple tens of yards away. It was a woman and a young child, probably five years old. The kid was probably born right before the sudden population nosedive. Hank seriously hoped the mother had some pepper spray on her or something; he always got a little nervous when parents brought kids that young out to play, especially without a few more supporting adults around. In broad daylight it _should_ be totally safe, but he knew too well what kinds of crazy people were out there these days, and what kinds of crazy things they’d already done or tried to do.   
  
Connor seemed to notice him looking as well. “Are you worried?” he asked, glancing over at Hank. “I noticed a slight change in your heart rate.”   
  
Maybe that should have weirded him out, but Hank wasn’t really bothered by it. It was the sort of thing a good work partner would notice-- probably not through heart rate changes, but still. (And it wasn’t as weird as Connor pointing out his arousal, at least.) “I wouldn’t say _worried._ Just cautious, I guess. You’ve heard the stories, right?” When Connor nodded, Hank did the same. “Lotta fuckin’ whack-jobs deciding to target kids and parents these days.”   
  
It was quiet for a moment, as they both watched the kid play on the monkey-bars (Hank at least tried not to look like he was staring; Connor, at this point, completely lacked such tact), and then Connor said, sounding a little wistful, “They look happy.”   
  
The little parent-child combo _did_ look happy. The kid would stop climbing every so often and look back at mom, who would smile and wave, and the kid would look so damn pleased. It was so sweet it was heart-breaking, just because, well, Hank fucking missed that.   
  
For a brief moment, Connor glanced back at him, like he’d sensed a disturbance in Hank’s bio-electrical signals or whatever, but he only gazed at him curiously for a second before turning away again. Maybe he did have a little tact after all.   
  
“Do you still think it’s worth having children?” Connor asked, after a few more moments. “Even though it might be dangerous?”   
  
Hank didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, definitely,” he said. “Having a kid’s always been dangerous. There’s more shit to worry about than you’d ever imagine before you’re holding this fragile little thing, then suddenly when it’s in your arms you’re paranoid about all the ways it could go wrong. Hell, sometimes it does.” His throat stuck then, threatening to choke him, but he pushed on. That wasn’t his point. “Y’know, but that’s no reason not to try.”   
  
Connor hummed, the little verbal acknowledgement that he’d heard him, maybe that he was thinking about what was said. “So you think it’s important to have children?” he asked, though it bordered on a statement, a clear line of assumption from Hank’s previous statements.   
  
_‘Important’_ was kind of a weird word. It changed in meaning all the time, depending on the situation. Did Hank think having kids was important? Sort of. _Yeah,_ intrinsically, he did, because he’d had that experience and it was meaningful to him. It _felt_ important. And obviously people needed to keep being born, if they (as humans) wanted to keep this whole thing going. Which they did, didn’t they? What was the point of building all the shit they’d built, learning everything they’d learned, if not to share it with someone you cared about, and give it away after you were done with it? The psychos who went around murdering kids these days because they thought humanity deserved extinction-- just what the fuck? The apathy they had to have was _astounding._   
  
But on the other hand (or maybe just one more finger of the same hand, just another side of a coin or a dice), it definitely _wasn’t_ important, having kids. Not at _any cost_, like all the panicking politicians and protesters seemed to think. Yeah, humanity would die out if they didn’t have more kids. But was it worth it to continue if they had to go off the fucking deep end to do it? It hadn’t gotten that crazy _yet,_ but Hank had heard talk of the sort of propositions floating around in government circles. Outlawing birth control, heavy fines for childless couples, even forced breeding and cloning programs. If things got much more dire, they wouldn’t be far from a totalitarian state, and people would let it happen because everyone was scared. And that wasn’t fucking right, no matter how important Hank might personally feel having kids was.   
  
Which brought him back around to Connor. Clearly his existence was some kind of attempt at reaching a middle ground between drastic measures and preserving the peace. Forcing a robot to breed for humanity probably wasn’t going to cause nearly as many riots as forcing humans to do it. And it was still a secret too, wasn’t it? Sort of? So unless someone involved got fed-up enough to risk their job (in Hank’s case) or their meager freedom (in Connor’s), it probably wasn’t even going to get out. Made it kind of the perfect scheme, at least from anyone else’s perspective. Hank was still… not totally sold.   
  
“It’s, uh, complicated,” he told Connor with a shrug of apology. “When it comes down to it, I think people should be able to do whatever the fuck they want, long as it’s not hurting people. And whatever the fucking president says, not having kids isn’t ‘hurting’ people. Yeah, maybe it’s a problem, but it’s not any one person’s responsibility to fix it. _You_ live for _you.”_ He gave Connor a hard look, hoping he understood that, yeah, Hank was talking generally here, but he also absolutely meant _‘This Applies To You Too’._   
  
Connor nodded emphatically. “Of course. It’s unethical to expect living beings to act in a way that doesn’t suit their best interests.”   
  
“Good,” Hank said. “Glad we’re in agreement.”   
  
Of course then Connor had to keep talking and ruin Hank’s beautiful illusion. “So it was logical to create androids for this program, as we’re both non-living _and_ acting in a way that suits our best interests.”   
  
Hank scowled so hard he felt something pop in his jaw. “What the fuck do you mean you’re _not living?_ You look pretty fucking alive to me!”   
  
“Aside from the components designed to house the embryo, my body is comprised entirely of inorganic matter,” Connor said, so matter-of-fact that it didn’t even really sound true. “Therefore, I’m not ‘living’. Unless you consider rocks, buildings, automobiles, and other mineral-based structures ‘alive’.”   
  
“Yeah, no,” Hank said, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that he didn’t mean to look defensive but totally was. “But those things don’t talk to me, and… eat omelets, and, fucking… make cute faces when they have an orgasm. I don’t know what kind of textbook definition of living they programmed you with, but I don’t give a shit how many _cells_ you’re made up of. Nobody in their right fucking mind would say a blade of grass is more alive than you.”   
  
“Oh.” Connor blinked. “I guess it didn’t occur to me that you would prefer the colloquial definition of the term. Though I suppose it should have. I’ll readjust my definition to accommodate a more standard usage.”   
  
Hank took a deep breath, just a little bit surprised at himself for getting so heated. It was just… who the hell would look at Connor and think, ‘oh yeah, definitely not alive’? Some dumbass scientists, apparently. Was that why Connor had such a limited opinion of his own worth as a person? Jesus.   
  
“Alright. Okay, yeah. Good.”   
  
Silence reigned for a few minutes after that, as they sat and watched Sumo putter around, and two older kids take over the jungle-gym once the single mom left with her little one. Then Connor opened his mouth again, and Hank had to wonder if he’d been sitting on the words since the end of their last conversation.   
  
“Even with my new definitions, my creation still proves a logical choice, as I _am_ acting in a way that suits my best interests.”   
  
“Really?” Hank asked, one eyebrow raised lazily.   
  
“Yes,” Connor said. “There are many reasons why it benefits me to have your child.”   
  
Hank still couldn’t exactly see how, but he shrugged and nodded Connor on. “Alright. What reasons? And don’t say because CyberLife wants you to, because I already told you that’s bullshit. I’m not gonna let them make you do something just because they think they own you.”   
  
Connor’s smile at that was just shy of blinding. Hank hated how much he loved it, but boy did he. If all it took was defending Connor’s right to free will, imagine if Hank actually did something _beyond_ basic common decency?   
  
“First of all,” Connor started, once Hank had been sufficiently sun-tanned by his grin, “bearing a child _should_ be of considerable benefit to you. I’m aware that parents receive significant subsidies for each child, meaning that you’ll be much better off financially. Parenthood also grants a level of social acclaim, which could positively impact your standing in society. Furthermore--”   
  
A stillness permeated the air between them as Connor paused, looking like he was suddenly aware of what he was about to say, and not sure if he ought to continue. He looked genuinely uncertain as his focus flickered between Hank and an unseeing middle-distance. Hank wanted to know what he was going to say, but he didn’t push. Part of him was cautious, wondering what train of thought might have given the android pause. But Connor blinked, and his expression went back to normal as he continued his explanation, maybe a little less precisely than before.   
  
“--I believe that having another child will bring you a sense of joy.”   
  
_‘Another’._ Right. Connor had read all of Hank’s files, of course. He knew about Cole. He knew that Hank carried a deep sadness about his son’s death. It made sense that in his infinite capacity for logic, Connor would have assumed that a new child could lessen the pain of an old child’s absence.   
  
That was a can of worms Hank didn’t know how to address, so he didn’t. “But why is doing stuff that benefits _me_ supposed to be good for you?” he asked, hating, _hating_ how dead his voice sounded suddenly. The immediate slip into tonelessness was too familiar from the first months after the accident, a totally involuntary action.   
  
Luckily, Connor didn’t point out that Hank was having some sort of mini emotional upheaval, even though Hank would bet good money that he could tell. He tactfully ignored Hank’s shift in mood and answered the question. “Because I want to do nice things for you. To my understanding, it’s customary for partners to make each other happy as a means of strengthening their relationship and expressing their feelings for each other.”   
  
Hank didn’t have enough energy to really take that to heart or try to argue it (anyway, it was sound enough, he guessed, even if he still didn’t think Connor should bother), so he just asked, “So what’s the other reason?”   
  
“The other reason is that I’m ...interested,” he answered. “...Maybe ‘excited’ is the right word. There’s a lot I still don’t know about the world, but I’m enjoying learning. It was fortunate that I was created. I’d like to be able to give this to another being, and help them experience the world, in the hope that it will feel the same.”   
  
_How_ a robot could exhibit more empathy than many humans was something Hank couldn’t explain. But that was what he was seeing just then. Connor had an earnest desire to spread positivity, and damn, what a human thing to want. _Hank_ didn’t care half the time, too old and jaded to bother, and too many other people in the world didn’t care _ever._ Who had made Connor with such a conscience? (Actually, nevermind; Hank definitely didn’t want to know.)   
  
“That’s, uh… sweet,” he said, mustering up something of a smile. Regardless of his own relation to Connor, it was nice to hear that anyone in the world cared enough to _want_ a child, because they _wanted_ to raise it with love. (Love wasn’t what Connor had said; love wasn’t even… well, Hank didn’t know if it was even in the equation here. But actions spoke louder than the terms you used to describe them, so.) “What kinda things do you wanna show ‘em?”   
  
“Everything,” Connor replied, like it was just the most obvious answer in the world. “I’m not sure what that means yet, but I’m looking forward to finding out.”   
  
Hank smirked and leaned back on the bench. (Somehow he’d found himself leaning forward towards Connor, on the edge of his seat to catch every detail of his explanation.) _“Everything’s_ kind of a lot.”   
  
“True.” Connor nodded, unperturbed. “But both androids and humans have a massive capacity for knowledge; possibly limitless, if file compression is handled efficiently.” He paused, like something had just occurred to him (which always made Hank laugh (internally), because it was such a cute scatterbrain gesture, coming from a robot). “My only concern is that forty weeks may not be long enough to learn everything.”   
  
Surprised, Hank genuinely laughed then, a bark that caught Sumo’s attention and pulled him back towards their sitting area. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”   
  
Connor looked more than mildly alarmed. “You don’t?”   
  
“Hell no,” Hank said, shaking his head, grinning. “I don’t care what kind of supercomputer you’ve got in your brain or what kinda cloud processing you can do, nobody can learn everything in less than a year. Nobody can learn everything, _period.” _  
  
The expression on Connor’s face put Hank very much in mind of a puppy dog. “That’s disappointing. I was hoping to be as prepared as possible. Do you think I can at least learn everything about parenting by then?”   
  
Hank’s grin grew wider. _“Absolutely not._ Hey, don’t worry though. It’s basically a right of passage to go into parenthood without a clue what you’re doing.”   
  
“That isn’t reassuring.”   
  
“Wasn’t s’posed to be,” Hank said, reaching out and smoothing Connor’s hair. He apparently hadn’t thought to brush it before they left the house. (Not that Hank had any room to talk.) It was sort of cute, as was the mildly panicked look on his face. “You’re not having second thoughts, are you?” Hank asked, and only maybe 25% of him was hoping the answer would be yes.   
  
“No,” Connor replied sharply. “I’m just reanalyzing my plans and predictions for the coming year. I’ll have to be more careful, if you genuinely think it’s impossible to be completely prepared.”   
  
Hank rolled his eyes. “Don’t sweat it. I’m sure you’ll figure it out as you go along. Everyone does. Anyway, I’ll be there, and… I’ve got a little bit of experience.”   
  
The tense lines of Connor’s posture softened slightly and he smiled gently at Hank. “That’s true. It’s lucky that I was paired with someone so supportive. Thank you.”   
  
“Uh… sure,” Hank said, swallowing. Why did Connor’s sincere thanks make his mouth go so damn dry every time?   
  
While it was clear that Connor _did_ in fact have a certain amount of discretion when it came to _actually difficult subjects,_ he didn’t seem to consider basic bodily functions one of those things. “I notice your heart rate has increased again,” he mentioned casually. “Has the discussion of parenthood made you want to continue working on the embryo with me? I’m ready for another sample if you’re willing to dispense one.”   
  
Hank cleared his throat roughly. “I think we’re a little too out in the open here.”   
  
“Of course,” Connor said, laughing softly. “I meant to imply that we could continue at home. Although if you _are _interested in public fornication, I can see several spots in the park that would afford a measure of privacy.”   
  
_“No, god.”_ Hank chuckled, mortified at the idea of being caught with his pants down by a stranger, or even worse, an officer on patrol. He sure as hell did not need a story like that spreading around the precinct, even if he didn’t get severely written up for it. “Thanks but no thanks. I don’t always play by the rules, but fucking in a playground is too much even for me.”   
  
Connor stood from the bench. “That’s reasonable,” he said. “It probably wouldn’t be a good idea to leave Sumo unsupervised anyway.”   
  
Hank followed suit, though he was slightly confused by Connor’s sudden decision to leave. “We haven’t been here that long. You done already?”   
  
“Yes, Hank,” Connor said, with a tone that seemed to imply that Hank was an idiot, though possibly still likeable. “I already expressed my intention to head home.”   
  
_Oh,_ Hank thought. So he was serious about wanting to fuck. But, of course he was. Why was Hank surprised? “I didn’t say I actually, y’know, _wanted_ to.”   
  
One delicate eyebrow rose smoothly up Connor’s face. “No. But if you weren’t aroused when I initially posed the suggestion, you’re certainly exhibiting signs now.”   
  
_Caught me there._ Hank shook his head at himself. There really was no hiding from someone who could read your pulse and the minute dilations of your pupils. Most people could never be totally sure until their partner popped a stiffy (which was not the case at the moment, thank god) but, obviously, Connor was special and Hank was just gonna have to deal with him being hyper aware every time Hank was even just a little bit aroused (which, honestly, was probably even more often than he realized, and that was often enough already just because that was how things worked).   
  
“Yeah, okay, fine,” he said, because what else was there? “Let me just get Sumo back on the leash.”   
  
The walk home was pretty quiet. Connor happily twisted his head around to look at people and buildings and animals as they passed, periodically commenting on them but not expecting too much from Hank, leaving Hank mostly in his own little world. He and Sumo had walked this path a hundred times, so the scenery didn’t really catch his attention, and his thoughts drifted.   
  
Connor was a strange guy. One part erotic fantasy, one part sci-fi drama, with a dash of rom-com. But he was a lot more than a collection of tropes thrown into a human-shaped bucket. He was full of hopes and dreams, despite the fact that androids apparently weren’t allowed to have things like that. And it wasn’t like he was helpless, but he was clearly relying on Hank to help him achieve those things.   
  
Actually, it reminded him of one of his previous girlfriends, way back in college. She’d been the sort that wanted to settle down immediately, start popping out kids at the same time she was getting her nursing degree. The ambitious sort. Hank had liked her, maybe enough to get married, but he still felt kind of like a kid himself and he just didn’t know how she could not feel the same way. He’d suggested that they finish school first, maybe get into their careers. Well, she didn’t agree, and a year later she was married to some other guy, expecting their first baby.   
  
(He wondered about her sometimes, but not that much.)   
  
“Hey,” he said out of the blue, interrupting their quiet stroll.   
  
Connor looked over at him impassively. “Yes?”   
  
Now Hank wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say. Seemed kind of dumb to ask Connor if the guy was planning to leave him for someone else if they didn’t go fast enough, especially since he had every right to. He had to say _something_ though, so he asked sort of an open question. “What if, uh, I’m not ready to do this yet? Have a kid, I mean.”   
  
Connor’s brow wrinkled. “I suppose I would do everything in my power to help you _become_ ready.”   
  
“Yeah, but--” Hank ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back behind his ear. “What if it’s not a problem you can fix, and I just needed time?”   
  
“I would wait,” Connor said, simple as anything.   
  
“But what if it was a long time?” Hank asked. He watched Connor from the corner of his eye, wondering if the android would become irritated at the thought.   
  
Humming, Connor glanced off into the middle distance again, carefully considering. “I would find something useful to do in the meantime. Perhaps I would study child-rearing, or learn about humanity’s greatest achievements. I’m lead to believe it would take a very long time to assimilate all of this information.” He turned to catch Hank’s eye and smiled warmly at him.   
  
_Humanity’s greatest achievements, _Hank’s thoughts echoed, his chest just a little bit tight. _I’m pretty sure you’re one of them._   
  
Connor frowned before Hank could gather his wits about him enough to respond. “Though if I didn’t produce results in a timely fashion, CyberLife might be displeased. If too much time went by, a representative might be sent out to assess the situation, which could result in our partnership being terminated.”   
  
Hank grimaced. “So if I don’t cooperate, you really will be sent back, huh?”   
  
An uncomfortable look passed over Connor’s face as he admitted, “I _could_ falsify the data, if it came down to it. I would really rather not, though, as it could negatively impact the program. The other android participants would probably be displeased if I began sending inaccurate information, particularly Chloe. I believe she’s already having positive results with the data I’ve sent so far.”   
  
Hank’s first reaction was a measure of wonder at the idea that Connor might lie to his bosses if it meant getting to stay with him. He didn’t even know androids _could_ lie. But then the other thing Connor had said caught his attention.   
  
“Wait. You’re sending data to the other androids? Data. About _us?”_   
  
Okay, _there_ was the irritation; it was faint, but still there. More of an exasperation, really. “The data sharing was outlined in the email CyberLife sent you. You still haven’t read it?”   
  
His face had gone red, he could feel it-- part embarrassment, part directionless anger (which probably should have been pointed at himself, for being a dumbass and neglecting to read not only the _fine_ print, but _any_ of the print). “Alright, I’m reading that as soon as we get home.”   
  
Far from Connor being righteously indignant over Hank’s continued inefficiency, he actually withdrew a little, glancing almost shyly at Hank. “Maybe you could wait to read it until a little later?”   
  
_Why?_ Hank wondered, for a long, dense second, until the obvious explanation cleared the mental junk crowding his brain. “Wow, you really wanna get laid that bad, huh?”   
  
“My priority hasn’t changed since I first mentioned it,” Connor said, sounding just the tiniest bit defensive.   
  
Was he learning shame? Hank couldn’t decide if he liked that or not. It was weird that Connor was so brazen and matter-of-fact about things like wanting to have sex, because there wasn’t a human in the damn world that didn’t feel a _little bit_ embarrassed or dirty about fucking. But obviously Hank didn’t want him to feel guilty about it either, like the world often made you do. Still, back on the first hand, it was definitely cute when he got a little wound up.   
  
“Priority, huh? Exactly what priority is that?” Hank asked, just to be an ass, hoping Connor might get flustered.   
  
The android’s voice _was_ slightly tense as he responded, “To acclimate to your body and DNA through physical intimacy.”   
  
Hank tried to hold back a smirk at the jargony explanation. “And how are you supposed to do that?”   
  
What Hank wanted and expected Connor to say was something like ‘by having intercourse with you’, or maybe ‘by having sex’ if Connor realized Hank was teasing and got fed up with it. (After all, the longer they spent out here talking about it, the longer Connor had to wait to get what he wanted.)   
  
But what Connor said, rather tersely but with a level of resignation, was, “By you ejaculating into any orifice of my body as many times as possible, _if_ you’re still amenable to the idea.”   
  
A long shiver ran through Hank and he swallowed hard. “...I’m amenable,” he said.   
  
Connor frowned. “Then why are you acting like you’ve changed your mind? I’m receiving mixed signals about your willingness to participate in the program.”   
  
He was still keyed up from Connor’s imagery (_any orifice? Please, god),_ but a tired and disappointed sigh ripped through him like wind through a craggy desert canyon, catching on all his rough edges. “Because I’m a dumbass,” he said.   
  
Connor looked at him pityingly. “I don’t think you’re dumb. Your genetics carry mostly above-average intelligence markers.”   
  
Hank shook his head. “Then I’m an asshole. I don’t know what I want, and it’s been years since I’ve had to remember how to be _nice_ to someone. And I’ve never had to figure out someone like you.”   
  
“An android?” Connor guessed.   
  
“No. I mean, yeah, obviously. I _mean..._ “ He glanced at Connor, but then looked away again. This was another one of those conversations that didn’t quite bear eye contact. “Someone innocent. I dunno, _sweet._ Honest. My ex-wife wasn’t like that. Most of my exes weren’t. They were all jaded assholes like me.”   
  
There was silence for a moment, and then Connor said slowly, “So you’d prefer if I acted more like you?”   
  
Well _that_ got Hank to initiate some panicked eye contact. “No, _jesus_. Not on purpose, definitely. I don’t _like_ people like me. Hell, I don’t think anybody does. I just always ended up with people like that, for some fucking reason. But, look. I… _like you_, just fine, however you are. So please don’t go changing on account of my cranky old ass.”   
  
Connor frowned, apparently less pleased with Hank’s answer than Hank expected. “But if I don’t become what you want me to be, how am I supposed to be a good partner to you?”   
  
The question rankled, for some reason. “Why are you so worried about this?” Hank asked, although he wasn’t a complete idiot, so he should have known that was a stupid thing to say.   
  
The expression on Connor’s face was one of clear pleading, begging Hank to _finally fucking understand_ because it was apparently that simple. (Or so it seemed like Connor was thinking.) “I want to have your baby, Hank,” he said, words measured and precise. “I want you to like me, so that we can continue the program together. I don’t want to be taken from you and sent to someone else.” Each statement rose in volume until Hank nearly felt like he was being shouted at, in comparison to Connor’s usually even tone.   
  
Of course, that made Hank raise his voice too, even though yelling made him feel like a grade-A jerkass. “I told you I’m not going to let that happen, I fucking _said_ I like you, and I already agreed to this whole thing even though it’s fucking nuts!” 

Connor looked at Hank like he was insane. "No you haven't. You've  _ implied _ your cooperation several times, but just as often expressed doubt and disinterest. You've given no concise written  _ or _ verbal consent to allow me to bear your child." 

The blood drained out of Hank's face. Out of his hands too, almost causing him to lose his grip on Sumo's leash. Where was all the blood going? Definitely not to his dick. He felt the exact opposite of turned on right now; he felt terrified with guilt. Connor was right, wasn't he? Hank  _ hadn't  _ actually said yes. He realized that until this very second he hadn't completely decided. 

"You thought I might've just been fucking around with you…" he said faintly. 

"The thought had occurred to me," Connor replied, looking distinctly uncomfortable. 

Hank laid a hand over his face, hoping to block out the world for just a minute.  _ "Jeezus…" _

He could hear Connor shuffling slightly, like he was unsure how close he should stand. Maybe how close he  _ wanted _ to. Maybe he wanted to run away. Hank wouldn't blame him. 

"I like you a lot, Hank," he said. "I believe that you're a good person. But I admit that I don't understand everything about humans, and your motivations sometimes remain a mystery to me." 

Uncovering his face, Hank scrubbed the hand roughly through his hair instead. "Like I said, it's because I'm a dumbass." 

Connor smiled, though it was still rather strained. "I take it that has nothing to do with your intelligence quotient."   
  
"Bingo," Hank said with a sad little puff of laughter. He sighed and shook his head at himself. “I swear I didn’t mean to string you along. It’s just… this is weird, okay? Even you have to know it’s weird.” He looked to Connor for some kind of confirmation.    
  
“I know it’s unusual,” he allowed, maybe not quite old enough to have developed a good sense for strangeness yet.    
  
Hank nodded. That was good enough. “And you know I’ve got a… complicated past, about this kind of shit.”    
  
“I do,” Connor said.    
  
“Okay.” Hank took a moment to breathe before he pressed on. He wasn’t good at admitting when he was wrong, or when he fucked up, or when he’d hurt someone.  _ Great _ at making other people do it, hence his talent as a detective, but not so good at it on his own. “So, all that. That’s probably why. Why I was, y’know, a dumbass. But I know that’s not an excuse.” He gritted his teeth; he couldn’t quite figure out how to go on from there.    
  
Luckily, Connor stepped forward. “I’ve gathered that humans often don’t understand their own actions,  _ or _ their feelings. So it’s probably okay that you don’t have an adequate explanation. I only request that you tell me clearly whether or not you’re intending to continue the program with me.” He looked sad as he added, “If you don’t, I’ll need time… to convince myself to leave.”    
  
Was Connor guilting him? No, probably not. He was just being as honest as always. Painfully, innocently honest.    
  
“Alright,” Hank said, sighing, resolute, knowing that things were about to get irreversibly weird and there would be no backing out anymore. “Alright. I, uh… I’ll… I’ll do it. I…  _ consent  _ to… having a baby together for this fucking weird-ass program. There. Good? Is that clear enough?”    
  
The suddenness with which Connor’s expression morphed into one of pure joy would leave Hank wondering if the guy was even physically capable of holding a grudge, but only once he had the wherewithal to think about anything. Nearly as soon as Connor’s face split into a grin, the android was on him with a kiss, which, of course, was highly distracting. It was more of a smooch, really; one of those graceless, overwhelmed-with-happiness kind of gestures that Connor couldn’t possibly have had the time to plan. It didn’t seem like it was a seduction tactic. It felt incredibly natural, and it felt natural to lean into it.    
  
“Thank you so much, Hank,” Connor said as he pulled away (leaving Hank just a little disappointed, but also reminding him that making out in the middle of a suburban sidewalk was considered weird). “I simply can’t thank you enough.”    
  
Hank gave a little one-shouldered shrug. “That’s fine. You don’t have to thank me. I mean, we’re… partners, right? So, partners do stuff together.”    
  
It absolutely wasn’t his most eloquent speech, but Connor seemed touched by it, so, good enough. And, needless to say, he was even more excited than before about returning home, because if Hank was really genuinely planning to help him with this baby-making project, then there was no time to waste, right? Well, Hank still had his reservations, but at this point he’d pretty much decided that they didn’t mean a damn thing. He could be nervous and unsure all he wanted, but he’d made a commitment, and for the sake of never having to see Connor’s kicked-puppy look again, he sure as hell wasn’t going to break it.    
  
And if that meant having sex with an attractive robot at eleven in the damn morning, well, that was a sacrifice he was gonna have to make. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex happens in this one. I feel like it's kinda goofy, but hey, that's life. =)

Connor’s shoes were off the moment they were in the house, and his jacket was hung up neatly by the door before Hank had gotten Sumo’s leash off. He tried not to let it distract him as Connor began unbuttoning his shirt while he disappeared around the corner towards the bedroom, but it did. It distracted him. That was probably why, by the time Hank had gotten Sumo settled and removed his own shoes, the industrious android was already sprawled out on the bed, stark fucking naked.  
  
_‘This is what I signed up for,’_ Hank reminded himself as his breath caught in his chest. He forced the air to keep moving, his heart to keep beating (skipping all those beats couldn’t be healthy), and took a step inside the room, closing the door behind him so Sumo would keep out.  
  
Connor’s smile was bright and just a touch shy; mostly he looked starstruck, for whatever reason. “Will you join me, Hank?” he asked.  
  
Hank was tempted to be a little shit again and ask something like ‘what will you do if I don’t?’, but he didn’t want to give the android any more reason to doubt his sincerity. _Connor_ was being… _very_ sincere about his desires at the moment, and maybe that was something that Hank didn’t quite understand (so used to being defensive and deflecting all the time, like a good millennial), but he couldn’t say it wasn’t attractive. (And he wasn’t sure he could call it innocence anymore either. It seemed like Connor really knew what he was doing; he wasn’t innocent, or ignorant, not really. He’d learned, and quickly.)  
  
“On my way,” Hank said, pushing past whatever anxiety remained and joining Connor near the bed. It took him a minute to get his clothes off, but he eventually managed a level of nudity that would be sufficient for whatever Connor had in mind.  
  
So, it wasn’t that Hank was nervous exactly. He’d already tumbled into bed with Connor twice (in the past 24 hours even), and he wasn’t super shy about being seen naked (not by Connor, at least). But it was _damn rare_ for him to walk into his bedroom and find his partner laying there with legs spread, already softly stroking himself, and if that made his footsteps a little unsteady, he didn’t think he could be blamed for it.  
  
But Connor just smiled placidly up at him, like he didn’t expect that Hank might go back on his word again, or be consumed by doubts. That was definitely what made Hank keep walking, til his shins hit the edge of the bed and he was tilting forward, falling onto his hands and knees and crawling closer.  
  
“How do you wanna…?” Hank asked, trying to get close but not hover over Connor, because hovering was kind of rude. (Or so said his idiot brain, which still didn’t quite seem to get that Connor wanted him _closer than close._ Not to mention, hovering = rude was generally only applicable for platonic acquaintances, not… whatever they were.)  
  
Not surprisingly, Connor tugged Hank nearer, a hand wrapped around his arm. “However you like,” he said, pulling him closer. “I trust you.”  
  
_‘I wouldn’t, if I were you,’_ Hank couldn’t help but think, because he knew his own history, which included too many failed relationships and a number of infractions minor but damning enough to cause a divorce, not to mention that he was overweight and completely grey at least ten years earlier than his parents had been. Why the heck Connor should trust him was a mystery, except for the fact that Hank had promised to be his partner. Lord knew that didn’t mean anything to most people.  
  
It did to Hank though, and by this point he knew he’d help Connor with pretty much anything, even something that _didn’t_ have the potential to send him to seventh heaven.   
  
It didn’t _really_ matter though; Connor may have _said_ it was up to Hank, but he didn’t leave him much choice when he pulled him down into a deep kiss that seemed to imply he was absolutely starving. With his arms wound around Hank’s shoulders, he explored Hank’s mouth with not-quite-reckless abandon-- neither wild nor exactly careful. Hank thought of it as passionate, intuitive, like he was following some kind of instinct he hadn’t had the night before.  
  
“Where did you learn to kiss like that, all of a sudden?” he asked when he broke away to breathe.  
  
“You,” Connor answered, quite cheerfully. “I kept note of what felt pleasurable and decided to replicate the actions. You like it, right?” He brought up one knee and rubbed his leg against Hank’s side.  
  
Admitting that Connor had gotten him rock-hard just from kissing was still a little too open for the reticent asshole that made up most of Hank’s conscious personality, so he just dove back into the kiss. But he knew Connor could tell that he liked it (aside from the fact that he didn’t ask to stop); they were wedged together now, from chest to groin, and the two fully erect cocks between them couldn’t really be mistaken for anything else.  
  
Lost in the heat of another warm body, with lust comfortably clouding his mind and letting him forget what _exactly_ was going on, Hank almost slipped inside without notice. Connor was ridiculously wet, leaking all over both of them where they slid against each other. Somehow the moisture even climbed instead of just dripping all over the sheets, coating the underside of Hank’s dick as he rutted thoughtlessly against Connor. He was slick up to his head and didn’t realize how erratic his movements had apparently become until he felt himself nudging into the soft, wet heat and vague resistance of a world his dick hadn’t been acquainted with for at least a few years.  
  
“Uh, this alright?” Hank paused to ask, his brain catching up with him for a couple clear-headed seconds. It was just long enough that he might have started doubting the situation again, if not for the fact that Connor clearly decided it was his turn to forsake words and answer with his body. He captured Hank’s mouth in another kiss, then hooked his heels under Hank’s ass and pulled.  
  
And that was it; _the end._  
  
In actuality, Hank did _not_ spill every ounce of his seed right then and there, luckily, but in that first blissful moment he wouldn’t have been surprised. And he _shouldn’t_ have been surprised either, that Connor felt so damn good, so nice inside, because, well, who would have created a robot made for fucking and then given them a sub-par vagina. Still, it was a pleasant shock to his dick, which _almost_ lost its mind in those first few delicious thrusts. He was able to rein it back in, but it took some effort. He probably looked like a dweeb with his eyes squeezed shut and his heart in his throat, but he’d hidden his face in Connor’s neck, so at least the android couldn’t see.  
  
Although Connor was not perfectly composed either. He was making some choice noises, cute little groans and gasps that Hank loved, because he knew it had nothing to do with Connor’s eagerness to make a baby, and everything to do with being pleasantly overwhelmed by his first decent fuck.  
  
And yeah, Hank had to remember that this was Connor’s first time. They’d hardly done any sort of foreplay at all, which would have been concerning if Connor was a human. But he didn’t seem to be in any pain or discomfort; probably didn’t have a hymen to break in the first place. That was a relief, but Hank knew he still ought to take it slow and let Connor enjoy himself. Maybe… maybe focus on something other than pounding into him like a fucking caveman.  
  
It had been a while, but thirty-plus years had given him a good amount of practice (and now wasn’t that finally a perk to getting old?), so he knew, almost instinctively, how to angle himself to hopefully drive Connor wild, once he’d taken the time to bother. He slowed down, breathing deeply, and readjusted before driving back in.  
  
Connor didn’t seem any more impressed than the whole situation had him (which was pretty good already, sure, but not quite what he deserved). “What are you doing?” he asked curiously, noting Hank’s change of pace.   
  
“Just trying something,” Hank said, frowning at himself. Well, everyone was shaped different, so maybe… He shifted down a little, and Connor hummed almost imperceptibly.  
  
“That’s nice,” Connor mentioned, but Hank just puffed air at his neck, where his face was still half hidden. If he could _say_ it was nice, it wasn’t nice _enough._  
  
It took a minute (during which time Connor was apparently enjoying himself at least as much as he expected, if the way he held and kissed Hank was any indication), but finally Hank hit the right angle, and grinned to himself as Connor gave a sort of choked-off “hrk!” and shivered, before taking a (supposedly) unnecessary deep breath through his nose. The little light-ring under the skin of his temple flared red, then flashed yellow before turning to a deep, pulsing blue.  
  
“H-hank,” he groaned, deep in the back of his throat, his neck reverberating with the cords or the speakers or whatever made the beautiful noise.  
  
Hank chuckled. “There it is. I was starting to think you didn’t have one.”  
  
An indecipherable sound worked its way up out of Connor’s softly-parted lips, which could have been a _‘one what?’_, but he didn’t seem to care enough to rephrase it intelligibly. He just held Hank tighter, head tilted back like kissing was suddenly too much, or maybe as an invitation to get up in the soft spot under his jaw. Hank’s own mouth was losing its ability to function with any level of purpose too, as he thrusted relentlessly into that perfect spot he’d found, so he just nosed into Connor’s exposed neck instead of sucking small marks into it. Maybe another time, when he’d regained the power to last longer than a horny teenager.  
  
He was close (maybe shamefully, if he could remember what shame felt like right then), but by some miracle a soundless voice in the back of his head reminded him that he had a _partner_ in this, a partner who should be given as much pleasure as it was humanly possible for Hank to give. He didn’t think he could last much longer at this rate, so (again, it must have been a miracle) he stopped.  
  
“Why?” Connor asked breathily, tilting his head forward again so he wasn’t staring down his nose.  
  
“You’re too good,” Hank said, swallowing the affection that was intensified by his wonderfully fraying nerves. “I wasn’t gonna last.”  
  
Connor frowned a little. “That’s the point,” he said, giving Hank another one of those vaguely condescending expressions (which, admittedly, were pretty hot). “I want you to--”  
  
But Hank knew what he was doing, and he cut Connor off with another kiss, and reached down in the tight space between them when he was distracted by Hank’s tongue laving over his. He was gonna give Connor what he wanted, and he was gonna do it right.  
  
When Connor gasped up into his mouth, Hank’s dick twitched with a vengeance, but he held himself still and focused on bringing the android to the edge before he continued. There was so much moisture down there that it wasn’t hard to reach blindly between their legs and scoop a little up; it eased the slide of his callused fingers over the ridges and bumps of Connor’s dick, as well as the way that Hank’s thumb scraped roughly against the hair on his own lower abdomen. It would be a huge mess later, probably, but it was better than chafing, and better than putting more space between them.  
  
Some day, Hank would figure out why Connor’s breath was so perfectly ragged during sex, when he’d shown multiple times that he didn’t have to breathe, but today was not that day. Today, Hank just reveled in it, listening close to the tells and signs that hinted his partner was getting closer, from the hitching gasps to the whisper of his name as it fell from Connor’s lips between short, feverish bouts of kissing. He loved it, and he could have been happy with Connor coming under his needy fingers, but that was only half of what Connor wanted. So with a steadiness he didn’t know he was capable of anymore, Hank began to move again, carefully in time with his stroking.  
  
“Hank, please,” Connor said, beckoning, his voice so low it might’ve just been a vibration. His fingers gripped at Hank’s back, maybe almost bruisingly, though Hank couldn’t be farther away from caring.  
  
“I’m comin’,” he whispered reassuringly, planting soft but sloppy kisses over Connor’s face as he tried to hold on to the pace they’d set. Ultimately he failed, steady thrusting devolving into something frantic and stuttering, inevitable and instinctual, and luckily just enough to send Connor over the edge with a cry that bordered on a sob. The burst of heat between their sweat-soaked bodies was the last straw for Hank, who came with a grunt and tried not to bite down too hard on the edge of Connor’s jaw.  
  
They did nothing for a few long moments but breathe. Connor sucked in air like he’d forgotten how, but when Hank chanced a glance up at him, he was smiling, a wide, sated, silly-looking open-mouthed grin beneath closed eyes. When he opened his eyes and looked down at Hank (whose nose was still pressed into his neck, head almost too heavy to lift), his smile grew wider.  
  
“I’m glad they made me for _this.”_  
  
He both looked and sounded elated, and Hank couldn’t be happier with the outcome. Maybe couldn’t be happier, _period._ Connor was an absolute sight to behold, stars shining in his eyes like they’d dumped glitter in the resin when they molded them. Happiness looked exquisite on him; knowing what caused it was even better.  
  
“Me too,” Hank said shortly, his voice still trying to dig its way out of the deep, gravelly pit it had fallen into. He pulled himself up on shaky arms and pressed one more kiss to Connor’s lips before carefully flopping over to lay beside him instead. He trusted Connor when he promised that Hank’s weight couldn’t possibly hurt him, but even as a machine he retained a lot of body heat, and it was coming up on the warmest part of the day already. He huffed, pleasantly tired. “You wore me out!”  
  
“Hopefully not,” Connor said with a smile that edged on a smirk but was still too damned happy. “Most likely, we’ll need to do this again, at least once more in the next few weeks.”  
  
“Oh really?” Hank did his best to give a put-upon sigh. “What a hassle.”  
  
Connor shifted so that he laid in what looked like a more natural position, curled slightly to the side that Hank was on. His eyes began to drift shut. “I assume the sarcasm means you liked it.”  
  
“Enough to do it again? I guess so.” He was glad Connor didn’t seem up for an immediate round two though, because he was well and truly boneless and probably would be for a little while longer. He stretched and yawned, and reached for the sheets so he could cover himself up enough not to chill when the sweat began to cool. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’m gonna just doze for a little.”  
  
But Connor didn’t seem to care one way or the other. He’d already fallen into whatever served as his sleep, eyes fully closed, face slackened into a neutral but still lovely expression. It was a lot to process, Hank figured. He felt the same, and was more than happy to let the lingering afterglow lull him into a short nap.  
  
x  
  
He didn’t sleep long, maybe thirty minutes if his internal clock was anything approaching accurate. (He had a bedside clock, but he hadn’t even glanced at it since they got home. He had to guess it was early afternoon.) But since there was no rush to get up, other than _maybe_ cleaning all the dried fluids off his whole midsection, he didn’t bother moving yet. He was comfortable there, with Connor still knocked out beside him. The guy was dead to the world, at least at first glance. But as Hank gathered his wits back about him, he noticed that Connor would twitch very slightly, from time to time. Like a dog having a dream, he thought. Was he dreaming? _Could_ he dream? Did he count electric sheep, or just ones and zeroes?  
  
Under most circumstances, Connor seemed human. Only once or twice so far had he done anything that made him seem particularly ‘other’. If Hank wasn’t nearly using him as a pillow he’d have never noticed, but there was something distinctly android-ish about Connor at the moment. A soft whirring noise, like from a computer, came from his mouth as it hung very slightly open. It could have been a snore, if Hank didn’t know better. Listening closer, he found it came from his other openings too, his nose and ears.  
  
Careful not to jostle the bed too much, Hank leaned closer, putting his ear against the skin on Connor’s cheek. It felt so warm, so human, complete with tiny little hairs. But underneath there was a faint buzzing, so faint that Hank wasn’t sure it wasn’t tinnitus. If he moved so that it was his lips resting there instead, he would almost swear he could feel the minute vibrations. (He didn’t wonder that he didn’t notice before, when they were _busy._ He’d hardly had a thought to spare, let alone enough for something so delicate.)  
  
He followed the buzz, down the length of Connor’s throat, to his chest where it was definitely stronger and coupled with something that was _like_ a heartbeat, but at the same time very different. Further down, the noises turned to soft ticks and clicks. He paused just under Connor’s artificial bellybutton, ear to the soft ...flesh? He didn’t know if he could even call it that. It felt real; alluring, even though he still wasn’t ready for another go. It was just… intimate. And beneath that, the noise that on any other person might be from digestion-- a faint gurgle, like air and liquid and _organs,_ all doing their job to keep the complicated system running. What was it on Connor? Hank could imagine a complex series of twisting pipes and tubes. A cooling system? Like a water-cooled computer?  
  
Or maybe Connor was decoding his recent sample, dissolving it down to the molecular level, right there in what would be a womb before much longer.  
  
God, Hank thought. Was this real? His kid was going to be in there, inside the belly of robot, nestled between pipes and tubes, wires, and whatever else Connor was stuffed with. Was it… safe? Both he and Connor were just guinea pigs right now, he knew, but he hoped the FSC scientists had really done their research first.  
  
He thought about how devastated Connor would be if it didn’t work, if something went wrong. He could say as many times as he liked that androids didn’t feel pain, didn’t have preferences, but Hank was pretty sure they both knew that was bullshit. Maybe it was just something the engineers had told their fancy little experiments, to keep them from getting too many ideas. Or maybe they were _supposed_ to be emotionless. Regardless, Connor wouldn’t take it well, if things didn’t go according to plan.  
  
Neither would Hank, he knew.  
  
With a deep breath, he sat up from his hunched position of cuddling with Connor’s abdomen. It was still early, and there were probably better things to do than lay around in bed, however enticing it might be. He opted for a quick shower, then tip-toed around the bedroom to gather dirty and clean clothes, hoping not to wake his guest up. His… bedmate. He still wasn’t sure what to call him.  
  
Connor stayed out like a light for hours, through Hank’s PBJ lunch and some more terrible midday TV; through another quick walk with Sumo, just up and down the street; through an entire load of laundry _and_ some dishes. It was early evening, nearing dinner time, when Hank started to really wonder if Connor was okay-- which reminded him that he still needed to read that email. (The thought process went like this: _Connor’s been asleep a long time. Is he okay? What if he’s damaged? I don’t know how to fix him. Didn’t he come with an instruction manual? Maybe I could call someone. CyberLife? Shit, I don’t even know their phone number. Maybe I could look them up online. Woulda been really nice of them to send me a-- oh. Right. That email. Okay. I’m a dumbass._)  
  
So he read the email. It was pretty dry. ‘Dear Mr. Anderson, you’ve been selected for participation in our program based on your extraordinary’ blah blah blah. It did mention that they’d be sending a biweekly stipend to cover Connor’s costs and reimburse Hank for his time, which, sure, okay, whatever. Hank had considered that having a new roommate could be a little expensive, but by this point he didn’t care all that much.  
  
There was no instruction manual included (as Connor was supposed to be able to do most maintenance on himself (and CyberLife probably didn’t want to share their secrets anyway)), but the email did detail the thing Connor had briefly mentioned earlier that day-- about him compiling data reports to send back to the scientists and the other androids. There was no way to opt out of it; it was just part of the program. The same pretty much went for Hank’s participation. The email claimed that no signature was required; he had agreed to be involved as soon as he ‘accepted’ Connor. They didn’t explain what that meant, but Hank figured he’d long passed it, whatever it was. If it was speaking to him, or taking him home, or… the other things, it was definitely too late to ask for a refund. (Not that he wanted one, of course.)  
  
None of that was completely reassuring, or explained exactly why Connor was dead asleep at the moment, but the implication that he was probably processing and compiling a lengthy report on… Hank’s semen quality or whatever, was enough to allay his concerns, mostly.  
  
He did sort of hope that Connor would wake up before too long though. Some thirty hours had passed since their initial introduction, not even long enough to marathon a good TV series, but it had been more than long enough for Hank to start getting used to the precocious android’s presence. He’d had shifts at work longer than this, but somehow a day and a half (and three rousing orgasms) had been enough to endear Connor to him so badly that he was actually missing him while he slept.  
  
God. Talk about infatuation. He hadn’t had it this bad in _decades._  
  
(And it wasn’t just the sex, because he recalled his first date with his ex-wife. They’d gone at it probably four feverish times between dinner and lunch the next day, and Hank wasn’t sure if he’d _ever_ been quite so smitten with her. Which… was probably part of the reason they weren’t together anymore.)  
  
But he wasn’t going to wake Connor up if he was doing something important. Or even if he _wasn’t_ doing something important. He’d probably get up whenever he was ready.  
  
So Hank ordered pizza. A., because he was hungry and B., because he thought it would be nice for _Connor_ to wake up to food for once. Equal partnership and all that jazz. The delivery person had just come and gone when Connor finally staggered out of the bedroom, looking _so_ good in rumpled pants and a half-buttoned shirt that had spent most of the day in a pile on the floor. His hair was an absolute mess, and Hank kind of hoped he never brushed it.  
  
“I apologize for sleeping so long,” he said, frowning at Hank, who was making space on the kitchen counter for the pizza box. “Assimilating the new data didn’t take as long as I expected, but then Chloe requested a more detailed breakdown of the information. She says thank you, by the way. Is that pizza?”  
  
“Yup,” Hank replied, putting a hot slice on a plate and handing it over. “Bon appetit.”  
  
Connor took the plate and stared at it. “As I mentioned before, I don’t yet require food, and likely won’t for at least another week, or until I’m in the process of creating a zygote.”  
  
Hank shrugged, and picked a couple pieces out for himself, stepping around Connor where he stood in the kitchen doorway. “You don’t have to eat it,” he said, plopping down on the couch and kicking his feet up on the table. (You couldn’t eat pizza at the dining table; that was sacrilege. Might as well have been illegal.) “Just thought you might _wanna.”_  
  
“Hmm.” Connor brought the pizza closer to his face, and sniffed it. “It’s quite potent.”  
  
The android deliberated for a long few moments, while Hank pointedly ignored him and chowed down. Best to lead by example, he thought. But as much as Connor was growing, rapidly coming into his own personality and sense of self, he still wanted Hank’s approval on most things (apparently). He came around to the couch, crossing in front of Hank and sitting down primly on the edge of the sofa, and gave Hank a steady, expectant look.  
  
Hank rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help smiling around a mouthful of dough and greasy toppings. He nodded: ‘go ahead then.’  
  
Connor’s first bite was delicate, like what he held carefully in his two hands was some expensive gourmet pastry from an authentic European bakery and not a three dollar slice made by a teenager in a cheap franchise pizza shop, and the expression on his face would have fooled anyone who didn’t know otherwise.  
  
“It’s extremely flavorful,” he said, because he still didn’t seem completely able to understand concepts like ‘delicious’. (He’d only eaten one-and-a-half things before, so, fair.) “The acidic nature of the cured meat and the tomato sauce might prove a threat to even _my _internal systems, if consumed in high enough quantities.”  
  
“Yeah, pepperoni’s not really a subtle topping,” Hank said with a laugh, resisting explaining that that was what most people would call _spicy._ He’d slip him some sriracha later if he wanted to teach that lesson. “So, what’dya think?”  
  
After a moment of consideration (and methodical chewing), Connor said, “It’s much more interesting than eggs.” Hank continued to look at him expectantly until he added, “I like it. The composition is intriguing.”  
  
“That’s what I like to hear,” Hank half-joked, smirk mostly hidden in the action of chewing a piece of crust.  
  
Hank continued eating pizza with a greater sense of peace than he’d felt all afternoon, watching Connor from the corner of his eye as the android tasted each individual component of the pie and experimented with different ways of holding the unwieldy slice. When he was done with that, Hank introduced him to pop (“soda,” Connor said in response, like he wasn’t born in the Midwest too, which… was he? Hank had only assumed). The android let the liquid roll languidly over his tongue like one might taste a fine wine, apparently reveling in the feel of the carbonation.  
  
After dinner, when Hank was sitting around in a mild food-coma, he remembered to mention that he’d finally read that email. Connor brightened at the news, and when Hank asked, “so who’re you sending these reports to anyway?” he told him cheerfully about Amanda, the AI administrator, and how she had greeted him in his very first waking moments. He further detailed the communication he’d begun to receive from the other androids, who had opened up to him more in the past day. He seemed excited to be able to share these things with Hank, even the things that anyone else would have probably been a little shy about.  
  
“Neither Markus nor Simon have any experience in the field yet, but Chloe has been with her partner for several months and she’s offered to give me some tips on my performance.”  
  
“Performance?” Hank echoed, wondering if there was some way that the androids were supposed to be acting, like how celebrities had to school their public appearances.  
  
“Oral and vaginal sex, primarily. She suggested several positions which should increase pleasurability in both parties, according to her research.”  
  
“Uh,” Hank said. He coughed, only a little bit surprised anymore, but still caught off guard enough for a stray spike of arousal to shoot through him. “That’s, uh, nice of her. Honestly though, I don’t think you need tips. Your performance is fine. Great, even.”  
  
Connor gave him a genuine smile. “Thank you,” he said, which was about as appropriate a response as anything, Hank guessed. “I’m sure there’s much more to learn, but I’m glad you approve of my progress so far.” His gaze, which at that point had been sincere and open, fell to something darker and more meaningful as he did a sort of slow once-over on Hank’s body, almost certainly noting those practically microscopic signs of interest. “Maybe you would like to help me practice again tonight.”  
  
Hank could only guess what sort of kinky Cosmo advice the other android had given him, but it didn’t really matter one way or the other, even if it ended up being something above his pay-grade. “Y’know I can’t say no to you,” he answered, and it was only a _little bit_ because he’d lose his job if he did. Sure, that might have been his motivation to begin with, but the fact hadn’t crossed his mind at all when he was balls deep in Connor’s perfectly-sculpted body. Even now, outside the glow of impending orgasm, he was only barely aware of the threat-- probably because he was _still_ balls deep, just emotionally this time. “Did you have something in mind?”  
  
Almost like he’d flipped a switch, the seductive gaze changed back to Connor’s usual earnestness as he began to describe in clinical detail (but excitedly) how a variety of positions and sex acts were supposed to work. It was way more cute and funny than it was sexy, but Hank didn’t mind.  
  
Actually, he thought, as Connor tried to explain the intricacies of doggy-style like he’d never seen Hank’s search history before, this was better.  
  
_Actually,_ he wouldn’t change this for the world.  
  
They ended up back in bed a couple hours later, and Hank patiently let Connor walk him through a few of Chloe’s suggestions, probably grinning like an idiot the whole time because there was honestly nothing better than Connor enjoying himself, and there was apparently nothing Connor liked better than following a good set of instructions. On one hand, of course, Hank still found that tendency towards obedience vaguely problematic, but he figured it was something they could work on. For now? They’d found their niche, and he was gonna run with it ‘til they hit a wall. 


	8. Chapter 8

_ [I’m meeting Leo Manfred today. Carl has expressed his opinion that I shouldn’t mate with his son, but I think it’s best if I reserve judgement for now.] _ _  
_ _ -RK200 _ _  
_ _  
_ _ [Why does he think that?] _ _  
_ _ -RT600 _ _  
_ _  
_ _ [He doesn’t think his son deserves it.] _ _  
_ _ -RK200 _ _  
_ _  
_ _ [Does it matter what he deserves?] _ _  
_ _ -PL600 _  
  
Connor woke to the conversation his peers had been having as he finished analyzing last night’s multiple samples and the very pleasant actions that had preceded them.  
  
_ [Maybe Leo Manfred is more deserving than his father understands], _ Connor suggested, ready to give Markus’ potential partner the benefit of the doubt. After all, in his experience, humans could often be very critical of themselves and others. Their own perception was not always accurate, particularly when it came to concepts such as worth.

Laughter didn’t translate over their text messages, but he could sense the humor as Chloe replied, _[Your optimism is sweet, Connor. But Leo Manfred is a known drug addict, not a well-respected officer of the law.] __  
__  
__[It seems we can’t all be as lucky as you],_ Simon added.  
  
Connor couldn’t help but want to preen a little bit at that, although he also felt a bit guilty that he had ended up in such a fortuitous situation while, for example, Simon was having a pretty rough time. (Apparently his second potential partner ended up being infertile, and he was currently back at the CyberLife labs, awaiting his third assignment.) Luckily, none of them seemed to begrudge Connor his happiness. Markus, particularly, remained diplomatic in the face of his friends’ attempts to sway him.  
  
_[I won’t make any decisions until I meet him in person],_ he told them, which Connor thought was fair. He hoped that Chloe’s information about Leo Manfred was inaccurate, and that he would end up as good a partner for Markus as Hank was for _him._  
  
Speaking of Hank, the man was still sleeping next to him, snoring softly into his pillow. They’d stayed up rather late the night before, ‘working off all that pizza’, as Hank put it. Connor had only got to try out a few of the positions Chloe had suggested, but it was more than enough to wear Hank out. He’d looked happy, letting Connor tell him where to put his arms and legs, where to touch, where to kiss. It was another very new situation for Connor; Hank had previously called him the leader of their project, but hadn’t yet seemed quite so enthusiastic about following Connor’s direction. He expected this new development would make the next few weeks much smoother.  
  
As Hank was still on leave, Connor tried not to wake him up as he crawled out of bed and walked across the hallway. He was, as he thought Hank would say, ‘pretty fuckin’ gross’, covered in all the evidence of the previous night’s activities. It didn’t bother him personally, but he liked the idea of getting clean anyway, and being presentable for Hank. Also there was still something immensely appealing about the warmth of the shower.  
  
_[Have you ever taken a shower?]_ he asked the androids’ server as he stood under the spray. It was just so nice he couldn’t help wanting to spread his knowledge of it.  
  
_[I shower frequently],_ Chloe said. _[You might like to try a bath too.] __  
__  
__[I haven’t had a reason to yet],_ was Markus’ answer.  
  
From Simon, he got a short, _[No, I haven’t],_ followed by an unrelated update on his status, as CyberLife techs finished replacing a few more of his parts, to avoid cross-contamination with his next partner.  
  
Connor hummed as he massaged shampoo into his hair. It probably wasn’t dirty at all, but he thought Hank might like the clean soapy smell. The suds felt interesting against his skin, as did the rivulets of water running down his back and legs. He wondered if rain felt the same.  
  
He wrapped a towel around his waist (that’s what he’d seen people do on TV) and went back into the bedroom to redress. For a moment he intended to put his old clothes back on, but they’d been sitting in piles on the floor for most of the night, and what wasn’t stained or dirty (Connor distinctly remembered Hank reaching for his shirt to wipe his abdomen off before they could get the comforter too dirty) was probably very wrinkled. He _could_ walk around nude, if he wanted to. There was no law, as far as he was aware, about being naked in one’s own house (or the house of their sexual partner), as long as the windows were closed. And that would probably entice Hank into becoming sexually intimate with him more frequently, which was appealing, but he also didn’t want to desensitize him…  
  
_[Would it be acceptable for me to wear my partner’s clothing?]_  
  
Neither Markus nor Simon had any response to that, but Chloe said, _[If you don’t think he’ll mind. He may even find it arousing.] __  
__  
__[Do you wear Elijah’s clothing?]_ Connor asked.  
  
In response, Chloe posted several photos of herself in a variety of Mr. Kamski’s clothes, and the relevant readings of the man’s heart-rate and pupil dilation for each one. The implication was that certain kinds of clothes had an obvious effect (oversized shirts paired with only underwear, for example), while other types could be worn more casually (anything that included pants, for the most part).  
  
_Most_ of Hank’s clothing would be oversized on Connor, which made the decision about whether or not he ought to try to arouse Hank easy. He put on a large button-up shirt with some colorful geometric patterns on it, leaving the top few and bottom few buttons undone. It covered him enough to provide a decent amount of modesty-- enough for if there was an emergency or something, but it still left the length of his legs on display. Hank hadn’t paid a whole lot of attention to his legs specifically, but he didn’t think it would be quite subtle enough if he left his genitalia on display. Anyway, he didn’t want to _completely_ distract Hank from being able to function, which was why he also chose a pair of slightly-worn boxer briefs he found in the back of the drawer-- just in case he had to reach for a high shelf or something.  
  
Channeling the characters from TV, apparently, Connor gave Hank a soft kiss before he went out into the kitchen to tend to Sumo. Hank stirred just a little bit at the feel of Connor’s lips, sighing as if happy or comfortable, but he didn’t wake.  
  
The next few hours were quiet and comfortable in a strange way. There wasn’t very much cleaning that needed to be done, so after letting the large dog outside and then back in, Connor mostly sat and watched TV, skimming through programs and absorbing as much data as he could and wondering what Hank would think about any given show. He paused on the news for a while, and watched the reports of assaults and murders and riots. A few lighter stories were mixed in, about locals who had given birth recently and what their plans were for their child’s future. There were discussions about the efficacy of modern schools, and laws that might be passed to supposedly protect children. Connor watched it all with only the slightest sense that it had anything to do with him. It all seemed so distant just yet, in the cozy life he’d been gifted.  
  
He was in the middle of watching a cartoon (designed to encourage creativity and compassion in children, but still rather appealing to an adult, in Connor’s opinion) when Hank dragged himself into the hallway.  
  
“Mornin’,” he said, voice still deep and rusty. “‘m gonna shower, ‘kay?”  
  
“Alright,” Connor responded, smiling good morning over his shoulder, though it didn’t seem that Hank noticed. He returned his attention to the animated characters, listening to the groaning of both the bathroom’s old pipes and his groggy partner.  
  
The shower seemed to refresh Hank considerably. He paused in the hallway when he was done, a towel around his waist and his hair pushed back off his forehead. “Did you shower?” he asked.  
  
Connor nodded. “Yes, earlier. And I borrowed one of your shirts. I hope you don’t mind.”  
  
Hank’s eyes zeroed in on the pattern of Connor’s shoulder, which was all he could see from that angle. “Ah yeah, no, it’s cool. I said you could. Anyway, I’m just gonna get dressed, and then if you wanna, I dunno, I thought we could go out for breakfast or something? Maybe brunch at this point.”  
  
Brunch. Connor had never had brunch before, though he was aware that it mostly consisted of breakfast foods, just eaten at a later hour. “I’d like that,” he said, and the smile he gave Hank made the man cough and turn away.  
  
A few minutes later, Hank came back into the living room and around to the front of the couch, with the apparent goal of sitting to put his shoes on, but he paused when more than Connor’s head and shoulders came into view.  
  
“I, uh…”  
  
Connor smiled, which made Hank laugh, a gleam in his eye as he began to understand.  
  
“You’re doing this on purpose,” he said, eyes narrowed in amused accusation. “Well, look. It’s cute and all, but I don’t think any restaurants are gonna let you in like that.” He dropped his shoes on the floor to come back to later, and turned around to lead Connor back into the bedroom.  
  
It wasn’t that Connor was disappointed (not exactly), but he was a little bit surprised. “This doesn’t make you want to have sex again?” he asked as he followed, smiling was what probably a little bit more of a smirk at this game of testing Hank’s limits.  
  
Hank snorted and raised an eyebrow at him. “Sure it does, but not _right_ now. Believe it or not, I _can _actually keep it in my pants sometimes.”  
  
“That’s unfortunate,” Connor said, but he could tell that Hank saw it was a joke because the man laughed and pulled him over to in front of the closet, ignoring the statement.  
  
Admittedly, Connor didn’t really need Hank to explain his level of arousal to him. He could tell from his biological signals that Hank was being quite honest at the moment. His heart rate had spiked when he’d first seen Connor on the couch, but it had calmed down to only slightly-elevated levels very quickly. It seemed his emotional state or hunger levels were keeping him from getting worked up over Connor’s partial nudity. (He hoped it was that, anyway, and not that Hank’s attraction to him was already waning.)  
  
But Hank’s pupils dilated just a little bit again, once Connor was dressed in a pair of his old pants (and a belt to hold them up), an undershirt tucked into it.  
  
“I’m surprised…” Connor said, straightening out his overshirt in the mirror, as Hank stood back and watched. “You’re showing just as many signs of arousal now, despite less of my skin being displayed.” He found Hank’s eyes in the mirror and regarded him curiously. “Why?”  
  
The question seemed to catch Hank off guard. “Uh.” A soft blush began to creep up his cheeks. “I don’t really know. It’s kinda hard to explain.”  
  
Connor didn’t like that answer, but he got the impression that Hank really didn’t have a better one for him-- another case of humans not understanding themselves, he imagined. So he didn’t push, and finished putting his clothes and hair in order, checking Hank’s reactions each time he readjusted a lock of hair or a fabric fold.  
  
They were in the car, on the way to an unnamed brunch-serving destination, by the time Connor decided to consult Chloe again.  
  
_[Hank’s reaction defied my expectations],_ he said, sending over a data packet containing his readings of Hank’s reactions to his various states of clothedness. _[He seems to like me in more clothes, just as much as less. Why would that be the case?] _  
  
Again he got the feeling that Chloe was laughing as she replied. _[Typically, it’s an example of possessiveness. Wearing his clothes signifies that you’re a pair. Sometimes humans like the physical reminder.]_  
  
Of course, Connor thought. Part of him already knew that attraction was a sometimes unpredictable combination of physiological and psycho-emotional stimulation. It made sense, now that he thought about it. Humans were so social, after all. They liked to have physical markers of their relationships.  
  
If Connor was capable of such a thing, he might call it heartwarming. But even without a conventional human heart, he still found the concept very pleasing.  
  
“What’re you smiling about?” Hank asked, though he was smiling too, so it was clear he held no judgment for Connor’s mood.  
  
Connor considered explaining, but as Hank had said before, it was sort of difficult. And far be it for him to try to explain Hank’s own feelings to him, even if he did think he had a pretty good grasp on why Hank reacted the way he did. “I’m excited to be going someplace with you,” he said instead. It was true enough, anyway. He looked forward to displaying the socially-acceptable physical markers of their relationship in a public place.  
  
Their destination ended up being a donut shop, as Hank was adamant that Connor get a taste of his preferred breakfast food. The place smelled warm and sweet, and it was very aesthetically pleasing. Rows and rows of differently colored and shaped donuts and other pastries lined the inside of the glass display case.  
  
“Pick a few,” Hank suggested, but Connor was overwhelmed by the choices. There were at least thirty varieties and he had no frame of reference for what any of them was like.  
  
“Which one is most nutritionally sound?”  
  
Hank made a face like Connor had just told a distasteful joke. “None of them,” he answered, turning to regard the display himself. He signaled the employee and had them pick a dozen different donuts and place them into a long flat box, and then ordered a coffee to complete the experience before guiding Connor over to a booth. He opened the lid of the box for him, like he was presenting jewels to a king. “Take your pick.”  
  
Connor stared. How was he supposed to make the right choice? He supposed the quintessential donut would be the one that shared the most common attributes, so he ruled out the few oblong or otherwise oddly shaped options. Two had ridges; he removed those from his consideration. One was frosted in pink, which set it apart from the others, which were mostly shades of brown. Similarly, one was covered in white powder. Of the remaining options, more were light brown than dark brown, so he zeroed in on them. He chose to avoid the matte donut, which didn’t gleam like the others. What was left were two glazed donuts-- one in a ring shape, one a full circle.  
  
He glanced up at Hank, who was watching him with an undeniable mirth in his eyes. He didn’t give any hints, unfortunately, so Connor looked back down and carefully examined both options-- without touching them, of course. He glanced up at Hank periodically, but he was waiting patiently for Connor to make his choice. Eventually he did slowly grab one of the ones Connor had clearly decided he _didn’t_ want, and sat back to eat it.  
  
“You can have both, y’know.”  
  
“Thank you,” Connor said. “But the first one will forever be the basis of my opinion about all donuts. It would be unfair to the entire food group if I were to choose poorly.”  
  
“I like how you call donuts a food group,” Hank said, laughing around a bite. He swallowed, and then apparently decided to take pity on Connor and his indecision. “Ok, if you want my opinion? Go with the ring. It’s classic. And if you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it. We can drop by IHOP or someplace that has eggs or something.”  
  
The ring donut then. Carefully, Connor picked it up. It was soft, seemingly fragile, and quite light. He watched how Hank was eating his own ring-shaped donuts, and then bit into it. It was far more delicate than pizza, but similarly as chewy. He considered informing Hank about the exact number of grams of sugar, but as that would have required that he stop chewing, he didn’t bother.  
  
Hank pushed the coffee his way, and Connor took a long sip. He didn’t expect it to be so hot, and wondered how Hank managed not to irreparably damage the sensitive skin of his mouth and tongue. Perhaps he _had?_ Maybe that was why he could eat such sugar-laden pastries for breakfast.  
  
The atmosphere of the donut shop was very comfortable. Connor wasn’t sure he’d call it calm, as there was a general air of business to the place, people rushing in and out on their way to work or school, but everyone who passed through seemed pleased to be there. He could see now what Hank was saying before, about wanting a sugary boost to start the day off. Maybe it wasn’t healthy, but if it served a purpose then it couldn’t be too bad.  
  
“So,” Hank began, making his way through a third donut. “Do we need to take you to IHOP?”  
  
Connor shook his head, smiling. It was kind of Hank to offer to cater to his tastes, if unnecessary. “I think this will be a sufficient breakfast for today.”  
  
“That mean you liked it?” Hank asked.  
  
‘Like’ was still a concept Connor was trying to really grasp. At this point, the only thing he knew he liked for sure was Hank; everything else was just an interesting experience. If he had to give up food or clothes or even sex, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be terribly bothered by their absence, as long as he was able to stay with Hank. That wasn’t what Hank asked though, so Connor gave him a less overarching answer.  
  
“I wouldn’t recommend eating them every day, but yes, I think I like donuts.”  
  
Pleased with the response, Hank pushed another his way. It ended up being full of raspberry jelly, which squirted out the other side when he took a bite. Hank laughed at the mess it made, and Connor decided rather suddenly that he definitely _did _like donuts.  
  
They lingered in the shop for another half-hour, finishing off a second cup of coffee and eight of the assorted dozen donuts. Hank checked his email on his phone as they sat and soaked in the background noise of the store. Connor browsed the internet for an answer to a question that was forming in his head.  
  
_[Is hand-holding an appropriate public display of affection at this stage of my relationship with Hank?]_ he asked the android server, when his search provided too much data to be properly conclusive.  
  
Simon answered first. _[I don’t think hand-holding is in our job description],_ he said, and Connor could only imagine the sort of tone he would have used, had he spoken aloud.  
  
_[My job is to create a positive and pleasant relationship with Hank in order to facilitate conception],_ he responded, even though he doubted that Simon could have forgotten the point of their creation. Most likely he was just going about it in a different way. (According to the android’s updates, he was currently in-transit to his next partner. Connor would never _say_ such a thing to him, but he didn’t think Simon had the experience yet to tell Connor how best to do his job. Perhaps he would understand after he found the right partner.)  
  
There was no rebuttal from Simon, but Markus chimed in with a comment a few moments later. _[I told Carl about your question. He just laughed. I think that means you should do it.]_  
  
Connor waited a minute, wondering if Chloe might give her opinion on the matter, but she apparently had nothing to say.  
  
Hank’s hands were both occupied with his cell phone, though the right one sometimes reached out to grab a donut or take a sip of his coffee. Connor tracked the movement as it did this several times. He didn’t want to interrupt Hank from his work or from his food, so the only time he would be able to take his hand was in the short window between setting down his coffee cup and returning to his phone. He had the reflexes, but television and his internet search had implied that sudden jerky movements were considered unattractive. With that in mind, he laid his left hand out on the table, between the coffee cup and the box of donuts. Unfortunately, it was apparently too awkward of a position not to catch Hank’s notice.  
  
“Want more coffee?” he asked. “There’s free refills.”  
  
Being that the responses to that question were limited (answer truthfully and have to explain himself, or lie to preserve the moment), Connor said simply, “Thank you” and took the coffee up into his own hand, drinking from it diligently. It wasn’t _bad,_ it just wasn’t what he’d intended to do.  
  
Hank’s attention returned to his phone, and he spent several minutes frowning in concentration at whatever he was reading. He didn’t reach for the coffee again.  
  
_[I can’t seem to find the right time],_ he lamented, watching as Hank continued scrolling on his phone.  
  
_[Why do you need to find the right time?]_ came a new signature, labeled WR400. _[If you want to do it, just do it.] _  
  
Connor must have made some small noise of surprise at meeting someone new on their semi-private server, because Hank looked up at him, an eyebrow raised. He glanced up at Connor’s temple; in the window’s reflection, he could see it blinking yellow as he sent and received communications.  
  
“Talkin’ to the squad?” Hank asked, and Connor was a little bit surprised that he’d apparently already surmised as much.  
  
“Yes,” he replied. For a very short moment he was at a loss to explain what was happening, busy trying to sort their new acquaintance into his mental filing cabinet at the same time that he conversed with them and with Hank, part of him still trying to find the best time to hold his partner’s hand. “It seems a new android has come online.”  
  
_[I don’t want to put strain on our relationship by acting in an awkward manner],_ he tried to explain. _[I’m Connor, by the way. Welcome to the program, WR400.] _  
  
The others followed up on his welcome shortly, sending their own salutations and questions.  
  
_[Welcome, WR400],_ Chloe sent. _[I look forward to your updates.] _  
  
_[How’s it going?]_ Simon asked. Connor wasn’t sure if it was an actual question or just a greeting.  
  
_[Nice to meet you],_ Markus said. _[They gave you a name, right?] _  
  
Their new addition answered all their questions and suggestions at once by sending through a small update packet. Her name was North. She came online less than an hour ago, and was now awaiting an address to travel to.  
  
“Oh yeah?” Hank asked. “Tell ‘em I said hi.”  
  
_[North, my partner says hello],_ he told her, in response to which he received a winking smiley-face emoji.  
  
_[Tell him I said hey.]_ The message was quickly followed by another. _[I just looked through some of your updates. Tell your partner he’s got a gorgeous dick.] _  
  
Even if Connor had started building up blood, the biological vascular system was restricted to his abdomen, where the fetus would live, so there was no way for him to blush. Instead, apparently, his internal fans kicked up a notch. He was acutely aware of the high whine emanating from him, and he hoped it was too quiet for Hank’s human ears to hear.  
  
_[I don’t think I will tell him that],_ he said.  
  
North sent an eye-roll emoji. _[Then just tell him I said ‘nice job’. But you have to wink when you say it.]_  
  
Connor found himself almost wanting to sigh, having apparently picked up the urge from somewhere in the past day or so. He resisted, though, and looked back at Hank. The man was still watching him; it had only been a few seconds, android text conversation not relying on typing speed.  
  
“She says ‘hey’,” he told Hank. “She also says ‘nice job’.” He winked, as requested, and found he didn’t hate the incongruous action nearly as much as he’d expected, once he noticed that it caused Hank’s core temperature to rise several degrees.  
  
_[He liked the wink],_ he mentioned to the server, a bit surprised.  
  
_[I knew he would],_ North replied, and though she didn’t add any emojis, Connor was positive she would be smirking or grinning.  
  
Hank coughed and busied himself with sipping from the coffee cup, and Connor decided that he _would_ hold the man’s hand at some later time.  
  
They didn’t stay much longer at the donut shop, opting to take the remaining few home with them. Much of the rest of the day was passed companionably, doing chores _together_ because Hank insisted that Connor didn’t owe him anything and didn’t need to constantly be doing things just to prove his worth. Although Connor absolutely didn’t mind doing chores on his own, he found that he did prefer this. It was nice to do things with Hank, even if those things were not considered fun by human standards. Hank seemed to enjoy himself well enough anyway, humming some song that Connor couldn’t place despite his rigorous audio recognition software.  
  
At one point, while sweeping up piles of Sumo’s fur that had sequestered themselves away in dark corners and under furniture, Hank found a quarter.  
  
“Where the hell’d this thing come from?” he asked, most likely rhetorically. “Can’t even remember the last time I used cash for anything.” He shrugged and set the coin down on the coffee table and went back to sweeping dust-bunnies.  
  
Connor didn’t pay attention to the coin until they had finished cleaning and were sitting down in the living room for their customary several hours of casual television-watching. When a commercial came on that had already played six times that afternoon, he glanced down at the coin, which glinted dully in the blue light cast by the television. Looking across at Hank, he found the man was involved with something on his phone, not paying close attention to Connor. Multiple times thus far he had chided Connor for asking if he was allowed to do simple things such as pet Sumo, take stock of their culinary ingredients, or look out a window. He claimed, of course, that Connor could do ‘whatever the fuck you want, look, you don’t have to ask me unless it’s something like “can I rob a bank?” and then I’m gonna tell you no’.  
  
So, Connor picked up the coin.  
  
He’d never held a coin before. Though cash was technically still accepted as legal tender, it had fallen out of popular use within the past fifteen years, and was now, apparently, mostly kept on hand in case of odd emergencies or power failures. The feel of the coin in his hand was likeable. It was solid, ridged on the edges and embossed on the face. It was an appealing shape. Without knowing quite why or how, he rolled it between his fingers, dancing it across his knuckles. He flipped it into the air with the edge of his thumb, and caught it. He balanced and spun it on the tip of his index.  
  
It was enough to get Hank’s attention (not that he was attempting to do so; not at all). “Huh, that’s neat,” he said, giving Connor a very small smile and returning to his phone until the program resumed. He didn’t seem to mind that Connor continued to fiddle with the coin throughout the evening, though Connor did try not to be terribly obvious about it; Hank wasn’t bothered, but Connor didn’t want to distract him from anything else he might be doing, even though Hank had promised multiple times that nothing on TV really mattered and he mostly watched it because it was easy passive entertainment. (Connor was beginning to understand this; in the moments when Hank was sleeping and there was not much for him to do, he was sometimes blanketed in a dull emotion he recognized as boredom. It wasn’t enjoyable.)  
  
Halfway between lunch and dinner, Markus gave another update on his situation.  
  
_[I’ve met Leo Manfred. Carl and I decided to introduce me as Carl’s housekeeper, so that Leo and I could talk without any preconceived expectations.] __  
__  
__[How did it go?]_ Connor asked. He was hoping that Markus took to Leo and that the two of them would become good partners. He was surprised and disheartened by Markus’ answer.  
  
_[My first impression is that he’s self-centered, but also lacks self-awareness. I’ve decided not to engage with him for the time being.] __  
__  
_Chloe clearly approved. _[It’s good to be cautious around those who might not respect you],_ she said. _[If you think he might damage or mistreat you, he wouldn’t make a good partner.] _  
  
Connor hadn’t really thought of it like that. Then again, he also hadn’t considered that anyone’s partner might harm them, particularly not to the point of damage. Why would a human want to do that to an android? They were only there to help.  
  
He glanced over at Hank again, and tried to imagine the man being violent with him. None of the scenes he conjured were very pleasant. In fact, Connor found them distressing. But they were all highly unlikely, not realistic at all. The man who represented Hank in his imagined scenarios only physically looked like him, but it was clear that they were not the same. Hank simply wouldn’t harm him. He had no cause.  
  
But did the Leo Manfred in Markus or Chloe’s imagined scenarios have cause? What cause could he have? Maybe he had none, and Markus and Chloe were only seeing threats where there were none.  
  
Ultimately, it was not Connor’s business, so he didn’t try to convince Markus one way or the other. Chloe might have more of a stake in the matter, as her situation was unique and caused her to rely on updates from the rest of them, but Connor had everything he needed there in that house.  
  
Yes, he had everything he needed, and he was on schedule. Already he’d analyzed a good few samples of Hank’s semen and was on the way to having a clear understanding of his DNA profile. With just a few more samples Connor was sure he could create the very best child for Hank— healthy, intelligent, even conventionally attractive. Hank had markers for a variety of shapes and colors originating from most European regions. Connor wondered if there was a particular look he favored. Maybe he should have the ovum approximate the DNA of Hank’s ex-wife? Or would that be considered gauche? He supposed he could ask Hank…  
  
He turned his head to stare at Hank, not sure how to phrase the question. It was a simple question, but anything that evoked the memory of his past relationships or his deceased child was likely to put Hank in a foul mood, and Connor didn’t want that for a number of reasons.  
  
Hank noticed him looking and raised an eyebrow. “What’s up? Somethin’ on your mind?”  
  
“I’m planning,” Connor answered. “Soon it will be time to create the fertile egg cell to be fertilized by your sperm, but I’m unsure how to design it.”  
  
Frowning, Hank said, “Hey, don’t look at me. If you don’t know how to make it, I _sure_ as hell don’t.”  
  
“Oh, that’s not what I mean,” Connor said, smiling at Hank’s misunderstanding. (As if Connor could possibly _not know_ how to form an ovum. That was one of the first things he learned. It was integral to his task.) “I’m having trouble deciding what kind of attributes the egg cell should have. It will contribute fifty percent of the child’s genetic structure, and determine what it looks like. ...Do you have any preference?”  
  
Hank hummed looked up at the ceiling in thought. “Preferences, huh? No, I don’t think so.”  
  
That was surprising to Connor. He wondered if Hank maybe didn’t understand entirely what he meant. “You don’t have _any_ preferences? Eye color? Height? Sex?”  
  
“Nah.” Hank shrugged, looking very unconcerned. “Didn’t get to choose before, and that was fine.”  
  
“But you _did_ get to choose,” Connor explained. “You chose a mate who was attractive to you, with the implicit understanding that she would bear a child who resembled her.”  
  
Hank gave Connor a flat look, which he’d somewhat expected now that they’d brought up his former wife. “How do you know I thought she was attractive?” he asked in his challenging voice. “Maybe I just liked that she put up with my bullshit. Maybe she was a really talented poker player. Maybe she was just a good lay.” He shook his head, though it was probably just as much at himself as it was at Connor. “I don’t care what the kid looks like. I mean, it’s not important. Long as they look mostly normal, it could be black or white or skinny or fat or a redhead or whatever. Doesn’t matter. Y’know? Just make it healthy.”  
  
Connor nodded, feeling that he understood what Hank was getting at… more or less. He did feel compelled to add a comment though. “I’m not actually able to create a black child from your DNA, as you lack any noticeable recent African heritage.”  
  
Hank rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well I wouldn’t care if you did, okay? So just… make it however you want. Thing’s gonna be half yours anyway.”  
  
“Alright,” Connor said with a nod, which was enough to get Hank to go back to what he was doing with only a short side-eyed glance.  
  
Although Hank had been giving him a lot of freedom and autonomy, it was still strange to Connor to be the one making such a drastically important decision. Deciding what position to have sex in had been nerve-wracking enough to begin with, but that only affected the two of them in the moment, and they were both consenting to whatever happened. This child was not consenting to be born, and while that was the same of every living creature (including himself, using Hank’s more colloquial definition), it would be impolite to burden it with any more inconvenience than life sometimes provided by virtue of its own being. Therefore, Connor should absolutely create the child to be as comfortable, normal, and successful as possible. By that reasoning, he should make the child very conventionally attractive.  
  
That posed a problem though, which was that Connor didn’t really know what was considered attractive by the average human. Internet searches provided too many answers to be very conclusive. While it was easy to tell what _wasn’t_ considered attractive (deformations and bad health, primarily), every instance of a person labelled attractive was wildly different from the one before, in shape, color, and size.  
  
He _could,_ probably, attempt to recreate the looks of any number of celebrities from across history, but something about that didn’t seem quite right to Connor— in an emotional, possibly _moral_ way. It just didn’t feel… honest, and he thought that Hank would prefer that his actions not be dishonest. If he created a very attractive child, who looked just like a celebrity but held little to no resemblance to Hank, Connor felt it could be perceived as an insult to Hank’s looks, as if he thought that Hank was not attractive enough to have a good-looking child. And Connor very much did _not_ think that was the case; he considered Hank beautiful, and sexy, even if his internet searches for attractive people didn’t line up with his own personal interpretations.  
  
So it was obvious to Connor that he should use Hank’s unaltered sperm. That was the most honest way of doing things, and the way that best allowed his natural looks to pass on to the child. It was the way he would have done it if Connor hadn’t been needed. It was the way he had done it before. But the question was of the ovum, of what the child’s mother would have given it, in any other circumstance. Should he create a beautiful mother for it? Or one that mimicked Hank as closely as possible? He could remove all potentially hazardous recessive genes but leave all the physical traits like Hank’s own…  
  
It still didn’t feel right, choosing one way or the other. Choosing that the child should look like Hank, or that it _shouldn’t._ This was his job, but Connor didn’t want to have to choose. He wanted it to be ...more natural, like Hank preferred. Like Connor wasn’t an android created specifically for this job, and he and Hank had come together of their own accord. In that impossible scenario, they would have had sex only because they liked it, and any child of theirs would have been left entirely up to fate and biology.  
  
He couldn’t do that, not exactly. But… he could, perhaps, approximate it.  
  
The evening was wearing on, and before too long Hank became tired. When he yawned, Connor encouraged him to go to bed.  
  
“You comin’?” Hank asked, glancing up and down at Connor’s body, as if searching for any physical signs that Connor was intending to instigate sexual contact. But Hank wasn’t aroused at the moment, and Connor had other things he wanted to do. As much as he loved sex with Hank, and as much as he still needed samples to complete his analysis, he didn’t feel compelled to start anything at the moment.  
  
“Later,” he answered with a smile. “There are some things I need to work on.”  
  
Hank looked a little bit suspicious (perhaps because Connor had set quite a precedent already, in just the past few days), but he said, “Alright. I won’t wait up then.”  
  
“That’s fine,” Connor said with a nod. “Sleep well.”  
  
As soon as Hank had gone into the bedroom and closed the door, Connor got up from the couch and went to the bathroom, where he stood in front of the mirror. He closed the door, turned on the light, and _looked._ He knew what he looked like, for the most part, but it had never been important to analyze the structure of his face, or the specific colors. The patterns of freckles, the size and shape of his teeth. He looked at his nose, felt what served as bone underneath, noted the length and curve of his eyelashes, noted the fullness of his cheeks. He looked for hours, committing every tiny piece of himself to memory and matching every one to the closest gene from all of Hank’s samples.  
  
It wasn’t perfect yet, and it never could be. He wasn’t human, after all. But with a few more samples, Connor was sure he could have a passable DNA profile for the man he _could_ have been, had things been… different. It would be enough to fulfill Hank’s preferences, and enough to make Connor as much this child’s parent as possible.  
  
He smiled at himself in the mirror, watching how the folds of skin crinkled around the edges of his eyes, slight dimples forming on his cheeks. There was a chance now that the child might smile like that too, that it might look at Connor and see itself in him. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait. For all that every step was important in the process, he anticipated finally seeing the child more than anything he’d ever wanted before. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot dang, I think we might _actually_ be about halfway through now. (Or did I just jinx myself by saying that?)

The days passed comfortably. This was normal to Connor, who had hardly known anything different, but according to Hank it was definitely above par.   
  
“People usually go somewhere for their vacations, but there’s a charm to staying home. It’s more relaxing, at least.”   
  
“Where do people go?” Connor asked. Research indicated that coastal tourist towns were popular destinations, but he wanted to hear Hank’s more experienced response.   
  
“I dunno,” Hank said with a shrug. “Depends on the person, I guess. Vegas, if you’ve got too much cash. Disney if you’ve got kids.”   
  
Connor brightened; Hank meant Disney_land,_ or maybe Disney_world._ Disney was the group that made those animated programs on television. He could certainly see a child enjoying a place like that. He wondered if theirs would. “Do you want to go to any of those places?” he asked, perhaps just a little bit hopeful.   
  
Hank hummed, or made kind of an ‘eh’ sound. “Maybe some day. Never been to Paris before. Guess I wouldn’t mind seeing it.”   
  
There was a Disneyland in Paris, so Connor made a note to look into vacations ‘some day’. He understood from Hank’s lukewarm response that he wasn’t interested in going any time soon. Of course, that suited Connor just fine as well. He had several goals that were best handled right where they were.   
  
Though it wasn’t strictly a goal of his, Connor continued to experience new things with Hank. Well, new to him, at least. He ate and drank at least twice a day, starting to build up the salts and proteins he needed for his blood bank. He also tagged along with Hank as the man handled various errands. They went to the grocery store, where Hank magnanimously told Connor to go wild, under the correct assumption that he could cook anything they bought. (“Just no kale, okay? I can’t fucking stand the stuff.”) They took his uniforms to get dry-cleaned (though Connor was rather sure they weren’t worn often enough to warrant it), as well as Connor’s one suit (which _did_ need it, after a couple days of rough treatment). Then they went clothes shopping, which was _quite_ the experience, and something they could only really afford because Hank had gotten his stipend from CyberLife earlier in the day.   
  
“Looks like child support came in,” he joked when the message popped up on his phone during breakfast (pancakes made with as much milk and egg as Connor could stuff in them). He clicked idly into the pop-up, and then set his fork down so he could dedicate both hands to his phone. “Oh, jeezus. That’s, uh. Did you say this was supposed to be, what? Every two weeks? This isn’t lump sum, right?”   
  
Connor glanced over at Hank’s phone, though the displayed number didn’t mean much to him. He was aware it was approximately the required amount to support one non-working adult human with average needs. (Therefore it was, of course, much more than Hank would need to take care of _him,_ but it was supposed to compensate for Hank’s lost time and the inconvenience as well.)   
  
“That’s the twice-monthly amount. Is it too little?” he asked, wondering if Hank might have a specific use in mind for the money. Maybe Connor and CyberLife had miscalculated what his operating costs were. “We can appeal to CyberLife for more, if you’d like.”   
  
Hank laughed, incredulous. “Wait, you think they’d give me _more?_ God, no, thanks. This is plenty. This is _way_ more than I need to feed you. How the hell much do they think you’re gonna eat?”   
  
“It’s meant to cover _all_ of my costs,” Connor explained. “Food, yes, but also housing and utilities, transportation, and clothing, as well as payment rendered to you for your services.” He cut another stack of pancake squares and chewed on them as Hank did calculations in his head.   
  
“They know you’re living with me, right?” he asked. “So they don’t need to pay rent and utilities. They know I’ve got that handled on my salary, don’t they? I mean, they know every _other _fucking thing about me, so they _should.”_   
  
Shrugging lightly, Connor said, “I assume they thought ‘better safe than sorry’ and sent an overestimated amount, just in case something unfortunate were to happen.”   
  
Hank shook his head, a puff of laughter escaping him. “The only unfortunate thing that might happen is me losing my job, and that’d only happen if I didn’t play along with this whole thing. So, kind of a moot point, I think.”   
  
Since, according to Hank, there was no way they were going to actually need all of that money, a good portion of it went into a savings account. Connor wondered what Hank might want to save for. That vacation to Paris, perhaps? Or maybe security for their child’s future. Or maybe some other kind of ‘just in case’.   
  
The rest of the money that didn’t get spent on food, Hank put on a spare card and gave to Connor.   
  
“You’re the one doing all the hard work; you should be the one getting paid,” he claimed, putting his hands in his pockets so that Connor couldn’t be tempted to hand the card back. Connor _ was _ still tempted, but he held on to the card anyway, placing it in the pocket of his borrowed pants, despite misgivings.   
  
“I was created for this purpose,” he said, a bit surprised at himself that he sounded sort of faint. “I didn’t elect to pursue this job for monetary compensation like humans do.”   
  
“Yeah, I know,” Hank said, giving him a look that said something along the lines of ‘stop talking, you’re giving me a headache’. “But look. You deserve it. So just… take it. Go buy some shit you don’t need. Nothing more human than that.”   
  
What Connor ended up spending the money on was neither something he strictly needed, nor something frivolous. Hank took him to a local shopping mall, intent on his picking out some clothing more tailored to him— or at least in sizes more befitting his shape. The mall was a huge building full of smaller stores and more people than Connor had ever seen in one place, and it was absolutely distracting. Hank, luckily, seemed to recognize the awe in Connor’s expression and guided him towards a clothing store before he could wander off, or stand there all day and simply stare.   
  
“Business first, then we can browse,” he said, and when Connor tore his gaze away from the chaos he saw that Hank’s own expression was amused, but gentle and sweet. His eyes did not literally sparkle, but he seemed pleased, which in turn was pleasing to Connor.   
  
Trying on new clothes was also pleasing, like a puzzle for which there was no wrong answer, but many correct ones. He stuck to things which were mostly familiar— pants and shirts similar to the ones he’d been given when he woke, or like the ones he borrowed from Hank. He also chose socks and underwear to complete the ensemble; at the memory of their earlier sexual encounters, he picked underwear that had an opening at the front. It was better to have options, after all.   
  
(Of course it was also convenient for more conventional, less sexual reasons. As he had begun eating and drinking, Connor found himself also needing to dispose of both liquid and solid waste. The amounts and chemical makeup of the waste were not comparable to that of an average human, but the disposal methods were very similar.)   
  
He’d picked out what Hank claimed was a good amount of clothing and was about to take it to the register for checkout when he found Hank had hung back, looking into the distance towards a different section of the department store.   
  
“Did you see something else you would like me to wear?” Connor asked, looking in the direction of Hank’s gaze. It was the section that catered toward women or those interested in a more feminine style. He hadn’t more than glanced through the section, but nothing had caught his eye. Maybe something had caught _ Hank’s _ eye. He was the one who had to look at Connor most often, after all. Perhaps he had a preference for his clothing. “Lingerie, maybe?” he guessed. “Chloe suggested that you might find that style of underwear attractive.”   
  
Hank hardly reacted to Connor’s comment, which he probably recognized was somewhat of a joke. He rolled his eyes, but it was almost an automatic gesture. “Nah, I was just looking at—” He nodded towards the section, particularly towards a sign that read ‘maternity’. The section was dedicated to clothing for expectant mothers. “You, uh, think you should get some of that shit too?”   
  
Connor considered it, but he wasn’t sure whether or not it would be necessary. (It _ wouldn’t _ be necessary; clothing wasn’t necessary at all, and if he became too large for his clothing there was no reason he couldn’t walk around Hank’s house in the nude.) “I’m not sure,” he said. “My abdominal cavity is almost entirely hollow, except for networks dedicated to sending nutrients to the child. Unlike a human woman, I don’t have a lot of organs to be displaced as the child grows. I may not ‘show’ enough to require any change in clothing.”   
  
“Huh,” Hank said, digesting the information. “Well that’s… convenient. My first wife blew up like a fucking balloon and complained about it the whole time.”   
  
They decided to forgo any maternity-wear for the time being, reasoning that they could return if Connor’s current clothing became unsuitable.   
  
(Connor did briefly wonder what Hank meant by ‘first wife’. The usage of ‘first’ implied at least a second, which, to Connor’s knowledge, Hank didn’t have. He wondered if Hank was planning to have another, or if he had one that hadn’t gone on record. Or maybe it was just a slip of the tongue.)   
  
“Wanna take your stuff back to the car so you don’t have to carry it around?” Hank asked, as they exited the department store to go wander the rest of the mall and its varied wonders.   
  
“I can manage,” Connor said. “I’m capable of carrying much heavier weights than this.”   
  
Hank shrugged and led the way down the hall at an ambling pace. “Suit yourself.”   
  
(Before the end of the day, Hank ended up carrying the majority of Connor’s purchases, so that Connor had use of his hands to inspect all of the interesting things they came across. He didn’t call Connor out of this development, or claim ‘I told you so’, but he did look rather smug at being right about his suggestion.)   
  
Though both Connor’s sense of taste and smell were not entirely comparable to those of humans, they still functioned reliably, and both senses provided him a host of information about his environment. The shopping mall was _ full _ of smells, most of which were complex and associated with positive things. Food, perfume, cleaning supplies, toys. The scent of human sweat and breath and oils were not generally considered likeable by other humans, apparently, but Connor liked those things, and they were plentiful as well. Everywhere he turned, the new sights came with new smells. The place felt very full of life.   
  
And it _ was _ full of life too. Many times they passed by groups of teenagers, and parents walking with children as young as six years old. There were plenty of older children, having fun running around with their friends in the clean, air-conditioned environment where the sheer numbers apparently granted safety from the sort of people that Hank worried about.   
  
Far fewer young children could be found, but of the hundreds of people they passed, still several had to have been born after the sudden decrease in population. Connor counted four toddlers and two infants, closely guarded by their parents. They were so… small. He knew they had to be small. Human growth took time, and too large an offspring couldn’t be birthed safely or properly cared for by its mother. But it still surprised him somehow, to see how small they really were.   
  
He and Hank were sat at a table in the food court, eating something that was neither quite Chinese food nor American comfort food (but managed to invoke both), when a young couple and their small child sat down at a table two places away from them. It was just close enough that Connor was vividly aware of them— their smells, their sounds— but far enough that they wouldn’t be able to hear his and Hank’s conversation over the murmur of the mall’s ambient noise. The couple both seemed a little younger than the age Connor was supposed to appear, probably in their early-to-mid twenties, but they seemed well put-together and prepared for parenthood. They brought with them quite a lot of gear for their small child, including a little portable feeding station. He watched as they set it up and spoon-fed some type of mashed vegetable to the infant, who burbled at them in between toothless bites.   
  
“You can talk to them, y’know,” Hank said after Connor apparently failed to mask his interest.   
  
“Oh.” He glanced back at Hank in surprise; he hadn’t realized he’d been that obvious in his observations. In just a few hours at the shopping mall, he’d had a lot of practice in pretending not to look at people so that they didn’t become nervous from his attention. “Wouldn’t they be uncomfortable if I were to approach them without obvious cause?”   
  
Hank shrugged dismissively, although he didn’t tell Connor that he was strictly wrong. “You have cause,” he said. “You’re interested. It’s not illegal to talk to strangers yet, and the mall is not the weirdest place to be approached by people, so take advantage of it.”   
  
Despite Hank’s assurances, he didn’t want to scare the young family. Connor remembered the stories Hank had told him, and the ones he’d read on the internet, about how violent some people could be to children and those who dared to continue creating them. He didn’t want the family to think he might be one of those people. But he did want to see the child up close. And he _ was _ designed to appear non-threatening…   
  
He nodded at Hank and pushed back from the table to stand in what he hoped was not a frightening or too-sudden motion. Then he slowly crossed the ten feet between their tables, choosing to address the mother as he came near.   
  
“Hello,” he said, trying to sound friendly and not awkward. “I think your child is very cute. May I have a closer look at it?”   
  
The parents glanced at each other, unease clear on their faces. Then they glanced at Connor, and behind him to Hank. They’d obviously been aware of the two of them even before Connor approached. Connor didn’t turn around, but he heard Hank’s little huff of laughter and the rustling as he dug his badge out of his pocket to flash it at the couple reassuringly.   
  
“He’s not crazy, I swear,” Hank called from the slight distance. “He just likes kids, and we don’t see a whole lot of them around anymore, y’know?”   
  
Connor nodded to corroborate Hank’s explanation. “I’m planning to have one of my own before long, but I have little to no experience in the matter.”   
  
The parents looked at each other in a manner that suggested they were communicating wirelessly; it was hard for Connor to know what they might have been wordlessly saying to each other until their faces softened. “Everyone starts off inexperienced,” the mother said with a small grin. She still seemed just a little bit apprehensive, but she had apparently decided to push away the deep-seated fear of strangers for the moment, to indulge Connor in his request. She shuffled them around a bit so that the baby was nearer to him, and held its little hand out for Connor to touch.   
  
He gently held the baby’s hand in two of his fingers, delighting in the way it gripped them like his fingers were a lifeline. “They’re so soft…” He rubbed his thumb over the little hand. Clearly the term ‘baby-soft’ was not an exaggeration.   
  
“Watch out for the nails though,” the father said, laughing conspiratorially.   
  
Though they didn’t let Connor poke at the baby for too much longer (it still had to eat), they didn’t seem to mind him standing there and watching the slightly-messy spoon feeding, or asking questions. There were so many things he wanted to know from a real parent’s perspective, but he wasn’t sure how to voice most of them, especially without making it obvious that he had _ far less _ experience than they likely assumed.   
  
“How do you know if she’s hungry?” he asked first.   
  
They laughed, again like it was sort of an inside joke, and said, “Oh, you’ll know.”   
  
Connor frowned at the less than helpful answer, but he didn’t press. “How can you tell if she likes things?”   
  
“Like different foods?” the mother asked. “She’ll turn away if she’s not interested. But sometimes she just does that because she’s in a bad mood, not because she doesn’t like it.”   
  
“Hmm.” Connor supposed that… well, it didn’t _ make sense _ in the way that mathematical analyses of things did, but it lined up with what he’d observed of humans so far. Hank, mostly. “Then what about places, or people?”   
  
“She’ll usually cry,” the father replied. “That’s pretty normal.”   
  
Connor figured that, again, was much like any other human, except that the adults commonly replaced crying with complaining, always happy to express their displeasure in more intricate fashions. “So if she doesn’t cry, that means she _ does _ like something?”   
  
The parents glanced at each other, both considering the question. “...Basically,” the mother said, after a moment of deliberation. “But it’s not like how it is with older people. I… think she’s still learning how to tell if she really likes something or if it’s just okay. I mean, everything’s still so new to her. I don’t think she knows if she likes green or blue or purple better yet. You weren’t born with a favorite color. Right?”   
  
“No, you’re right,” Connor said, nodding. That was not something he’d been pre-programmed with. As of yet, it wasn’t something he’d really considered. From his understanding, he probably wasn’t supposed to have a favorite color, like he wasn’t supposed to have a favorite anything. He hadn’t started out with any, but it hadn’t taken even a week to develop at least _ one _ favorite: Hank, his favorite person.   
  
So maybe he would develop a favorite color someday as well.   
  
He asked a few more questions, which the parents did their best to answer or at least laugh about in a way that suggested it was something he would have to learn for himself. When the baby was all done eating, they let him hold her, showing him just the right way to drape her over his chest so she would be comfortable. She felt both heavy and light at the same time, her meager fifteen pounds slumped against him with just enough squirming to make her slightly unwieldy. He liked holding her though, a solid little warmth nestled under his chin which was nothing like Hank or Sumo’s cuddles. He was glad her parents’ wariness had dissipated enough for them to trust him with her fragile form. Of course there was no way that Connor would ever accidentally drop her, reflexes far too quick and far too attuned to her tiny form to ever allow such a thing, but her mother and father didn’t know that.   
  
The young couple let him hold her a few minutes, taking the short respite to both chow down on their own meals instead of having to take turns to handle the baby. Connor didn’t walk around at all, not wanting to make it seem inadvertently as if he were going to abscond with the child, but he pivoted just enough that he could smile at Hank, in lieu of waving at him. Even from the slight distance and with the interference of all the other people nearby, he could hear that Hank’s heart beat slightly out of rhythm for a moment.   
  
When it was time to hand the baby back, but before he bid them goodbye and thanks, Connor couldn’t help but ask one more question. “Do you think she loves you?”   
  
Both parents stared at him for a moment before tilting their heads down at their sleep-heavy baby. “I hope so,” the mother said, smiling softly with just an edge of sadness to it.   
  
“I think she does,” the father added, edging closer to his wife.   
  
Connor thought about that as they made their way home. He wondered how they could tell. It wasn’t as if she could tell them. In fact, at only a few months old, could the little girl understand what love meant?   
  
“You’re thinking too hard,” Hank said with a smirk, glancing at Connor out of the corner of his eye as he drove.   
  
“I’m reviewing the responses I received from those parents at the mall,” Connor explained, deciding not to tell Hank that he was deliberating on the meaning of love. (He already knew that his partner would start singing a popular 80’s song, off-key, if he asked his opinion on the matter. It had happened the day before, and led him on a tour of memes favored by Millennials.)   
  
“Don’t take anything they said too seriously,” Hank advised. “Everyone has their own take on parenthood. What works for one person won’t always work for the next.”   
  
“I know,” Connor replied lightly. He’d learned to take peoples’ opinions with a grain of salt from just one day of watching television. (Hank’s opinions notwithstanding; the nature of their relationship lent Hank’s thoughts quite a bit more credence, in Connor’s mind.)   
  
The car went comfortably silent again for a few minutes, and then Hank spoke up again, almost like there hadn’t been a lapse in conversation. “I think you made their day though. The parents. People always like to be asked about their kid, as long as the person asking isn’t a creep.”   
  
“They were rightfully wary of me before,” Connor remembered. “If you weren’t there, I doubt they would have spoken to me, let alone allowed me to hold the child.”   
  
“Yeah, well, single guys are more likely to be creeps than couples.”   
  
Connor thought about that. It seemed true on a conventional-wisdom level. But the idea that the parents thought he might have been dangerous was less interesting to him than the idea that they had seen he and Hank as a couple comparable to themselves. The wedding rings on their fingers implied that they were married, and they clearly had a great familiarity with each other.   
  
“Do you think they thought that we were a couple?”   
  
“Probably,” Hank said, nonchalant. “From the way they were looking, I figure they noticed you kept playing footsie with me while we were eating.”   
  
“Oh,” Connor said, a little bit embarrassed. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but now that he looked back on the scene, he could see that his feet _had_ been touching Hank’s as they sat at the small table in the food court. He hadn’t meant to force such proximity on Hank in public (not then, anyway; he was still working on the right moment to hold his hand), but it occurred to him now that he’d done it almost automatically as his mind was occupied with observing their neighbors.   
  
Hank just laughed. “Guess we do kinda seem like we’re dating, huh? I mean, the people at the mall don’t know the half of it.”   
  
Connor tilted his head. “I wouldn’t know,” he said. “What does it mean to be dating someone?”   
  
A long puff of air escaped Hank as he seemed to think about the answer to that question. “Well the sex is one thing. Living together. Going out. Guess ‘friends with benefits’ do that kinda stuff too, but friends with benefits don’t usually have kids together unless it’s some kind of goofy rom-com.”   
  
“Are you implying that it would be inappropriate to conceive a child without being in a romantic relationship?” Connor asked, wondering if Hank would be amenable to such a thing. It wasn’t required by the program, but neither was much of what they did. It wasn’t required that they go shopping together, and it wasn’t required that they kiss when they had sex. Hank had been under no obligation to please Connor sexually, or emotionally, but he had done both.   
  
“I’m not implying anything,” Hank said, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m just saying that’s how it usually is. Of course, there’s pretty much nothing normal about this whole situation, so it’s not like we have to follow the… rules of proper engagement or anything.”   
  
“I suppose we don’t,” Connor said. He looked out the window, watched buildings pass for a block, and then looked back. “Does it bother you that people might think we’re romantically involved?”   
  
Hank’s brow was furrowed when he glanced over at Connor. “I think it’d bother me more if they thought we _weren’t.”_   
  
Connor wasn’t sure how to respond to that except to ask, “Why?” Hank _wanted_ people to think they were a romantic couple?   
  
The laugh Hank gave was only not a scoff because Connor could tell he wasn’t upset with him. “I mean how the hell else am I supposed to introduce you? Especially when you’re pregnant. Or after you have the kid. ‘This is Connor, my government assigned sexbot who’s carrying my child’?”   
  
“It’s true though,” Connor said, tilting his head.   
  
“Sure.” Hank gave him a look from the corner of his eye, the look that said _‘come on’._ “But there’s no way in hell I’m explaining it to more people than I have to. Anyway, it just complicates things too much. Or simplifies ‘em too much, I dunno. It’s just better all around to let people think you’re, y’know, whatever. Something normal.”   
  
“But I’m not normal.” Connor stared at the side of Hank’s face, trying to figure out why he would want to lie to whichever hypothetical person he might introduce him to. Or maybe he wanted to forget about it himself. “Does it bother you that I’m not a normal human?”   
  
Hank took his attention off the road just long enough to look Connor in the eyes when he promised him, “No. I just know people will treat you weird if they think you’re not human, and you shouldn’t have to put up with that shit. All you have to do is watch the news for two seconds to know that expectant parents have it rough these days, and they don’t have to deal with an added layer of conspiracy theorists convincing people the government is trying to replace us all with robots or something. I already know exactly how that would go. So I’d rather just let people think whatever they wanna think. It’ll probably be close enough to the good half of the truth anyway.”   
  
Hesitantly, Connor admitted, “I’m not sure what you mean by that.” What did _‘the good half of the truth’_ mean? Wasn’t the truth generally all good? Or maybe all bad, depending on one’s position? When it came to their situation though, when he thought about it, Connor didn’t know for sure which way it totalled out for Hank. He liked the sex, didn’t he? And he liked Connor. And he was willing to have this baby together, even if Connor wasn’t positive whether he actively wanted it or not. That all seemed good. But he _didn’t_ like that Connor was beholden to CyberLife. Was that one fact really so bad? He supposed it was bad enough to be a half, hence Hank’s statement.   
  
But of course Hank didn’t know that Connor had figured it out right after asking for clarification, so he gave another little exasperated sigh and explained, “You know. The whole relationship thing. The _good_ part of this weird-ass sci-fi plot we find ourselves living in. The part I _don’t_ mind telling people about. I’m just not super keen on explaining that we only got there because the government sent you. I don’t really want people thinking we’re some kind of arranged marriage.”   
  
Connor frowned. “The rules of the program don’t require us to be married.”   
  
_“I know,”_ Hank said with a heavy roll of his eyes, though he was also smiling faintly. “I just meant I don’t want people thinking I’m only with you because I have to be.”   
  
“Aren’t you?” Connor asked.   
  
Something like disbelief came over Hank’s face. _“Obviously not,”_ he said, “or I wouldn’t be--!” He gestured vaguely, which Connor took to include the things they’d done together that day and the days before, the superfluous things that weren’t necessitated by the program. His expression was colored with annoyance, but before Connor’s eyes it faded into a soft kind of terror, that look that implied Hank had just figured out something that he didn’t like. “Shit, I can’t have this conversation while I’m driving.”   
  
Blinking at the rapid changes in Hank’s mood and hoping they didn’t portend misfortune, Connor said, “We can continue talking when we get home, if you need to focus.”   
  
Hank sighed again. (Connor sometimes wondered if he had a breathing problem, or poor blood oxygenation levels.) “We’re already doing it,” he said, looking defeated. “Okay. I thought we were on the same page, but I guess there’s still some details to iron out.” He glanced at Connor again, as if to make sure he hadn’t disappeared somehow, and took a breath. “I like you. You know, a lot more than I expected to. I like being with you. I feel like you kind of know this.”   
  
“I guess I do,” Connor answered, when it seemed like Hank was waiting for a reply.   
  
“Okay, so I think we should just… date. Or whatever people do these days, whatever they’re calling it. Be a couple. ‘Romantically involved’ or whatever. And all the shit that goes along with it. Think it’d make things a lot simpler than trying to come up with some other excuse for doing all the stuff we’re doing anyway.”   
  
He didn’t wait for any sort of confirmation before reaching out blindly and finding Connor’s hand, as if he was drawn to it magnetically. Connor felt his own eyes go wide as Hank grasped his hand, curling their fingers around each other in a gentle and easily-broken hold. His body language wasn’t demanding that they do this, though it wasn’t shyly asking. Hank was just stating his thoughts, and giving Connor the space to disagree-- as if there were any chance that Connor would do such a thing, when he’d been deliberating for days about how to do exactly this. He marveled at the feel of Hank’s palm and fingerprints against his own, how it was both similar and unique compared to touching him elsewhere or feeling his hands on a different part of his body. It was… comforting. It made him feel warm throughout.   
  
“Dating,” Connor repeated slowly. “Yes. Okay. I’d like that.”   
  
Completely unbidden, he could feel his whole face pull up into a smile, every single synthetic muscle drawing towards his hairline, mouth drawing a taut half-circle like a bowstring. It surprised him, and he tried to force it back down just to see if he could, but it was impossible. He was _happy,_ so happy he could do nothing but grin.   
  
Hank let go of a long breath he’d been holding. “Alright. So… _good_. That’s that, then. That’s the new story. You’re my unbearably cute boyfriend, we live together, and we’re expecting a kid. Whatever else there is, nobody has to know. Fair?”   
  
“Fair,” Connor answered, nodding, his face still trapped in a smile.   
  
Humming, Hank said, “Still not sure what to tell people if they ask where we met.”   
  
Because it still wasn’t intuitive for him to lie to people, Connor thought this was an easy answer. “The police station,” he said simply, and Hank thought about it for a moment.   
  
“Yeah. Guess a half-truth is easier to remember than a lie, anyway.”   
  
The smile didn’t leave Connor’s face for the remainder of the ride home, though it gentled into a soft, wide smile that he could feel in the very furthest corners of his cheeks.   
  
“God, you really are unbearably cute,” Hank said as he noticed Connor from the corner of his eye during the last block of the drive.   
  
The compliment made Connor’s smile twitch up even higher on his face for a moment. Cute wasn’t a word that was often strictly associated with sexual attraction, but he could tell that Hank meant it very well, that it meant Hank was very fond of him in one way or another. “That can’t be right,” Connor teased. “Clearly you _are_ bearing it.”   
  
“Not for long,” Hank muttered through a sly, half-hidden grin. When he glanced Connor’s direction to check that the right side of the car was clear, Connor could see that his pupils were dilated far more than necessary for the amount of light present, and that his pulse was slightly quickened. He made a note in his definition of ‘cute’: _sometimes_ associated with sexual attraction, perhaps only a homonym for the ‘cute’ that applied to baby animals and other small, soft things.   
  
They carried their myriad purchases inside when they arrived, managing not to simply drop them on the floor and run to the bedroom, even though Hank was still glancing at Connor every few seconds, eyes betraying his interest. Sumo was let out into the back yard for a few minutes as Hank hastily shoved his own things out of the way to make room for Connor’s new clothes in the closet.   
  
“We can reorganize later,” he promised, as if to keep up some semblance of being a responsible adult, even though Connor didn’t especially care and he had the distinct feeling that Hank didn’t either.   
  
They let Sumo back in, checked up on his food and water dishes, and then stood vaguely-awkwardly in the hallway together. It was nowhere near as awkward as it had been only days before, but the new shift in their relationship gave them something new to navigate around.   
  
“So how’s your _thing_ going?” Hank asked, vague enough that Connor might not understand if there was really any more than one ‘thing’ which he was involved with.   
  
“It’s fine,” Connor replied with a cheerful smile. Assuming that Hank meant the creation of an ovum, it really was fine. After his decision to fashion it after himself, he’d assimilated several new samples and now had a pretty good idea of which pieces of Hank’s DNA to use. “I’ve compiled enough data to create what I think will be a very successful ovum.”   
  
“Good, that’s great.” Hank gave him sort of a tight smile in return. “So that’s pretty much done, huh? You don’t need any more samples?”   
  
In truth, the last three samples Connor had gotten were 98% repeats and provided very little new data, and any subsequent samples would probably be even more redundant (though he doubted he’d ever get to 100%, just based on the enormity of information). But there was no telling what he might find in those last few hidden percents; perhaps the markers of true genius, or a latent talent that lay dormant within Hank himself, or another small physical trait that could better liken the child to Connor. It certainly didn’t hurt to take in another sample or two. And even if the samples ended up being useless, well, receiving them was a pleasant experience.   
  
Connor tilted his head just a bit, as if considering. “I could use a few more,” he said, abundantly casual.   
  
Relief clearly radiated through Hank. “I’m more than happy to help,” he said, leading the way into the bedroom, and Connor was once again overcome with a feeling of gratitude towards his partner. He resolved that he would show him that gratitude with all the skill he had learned that week.   
  
There wasn’t a whole lot left that they hadn’t tried in bed, aside from kinks and fetishes, but Hank didn’t seem to mind a repeat performance, starring Connor’s questing hands and mouth. And he didn’t seem to mind Connor murmuring his thoughts at him between deep kisses and other deep actions that his mouth could partake of. In fact, he apparently liked Connor’s low stream of affectionate chatter.   
  
“You’ve made me so happy, Hank,” he told the thatch of hair between his partner’s legs as he breathed warm air over it. “To allow me to date you, to allow me to be your boyfriend.” His hands slid up Hank’s sides and he nuzzled reverently at the man’s fully-attentive cock. “You give me so much more than I deserve, every day.”   
  
Hank’s breathing was heavy in arousal and anticipation as he replied breathily, “That’s bullshit. You deserve everything.”   
  
Connor wasn’t sure that he deserved _anything,_ let alone its polar opposite, but knowing that Hank wanted to give it to him regardless instilled in him a feeling so deep he couldn’t name it. It drove him to lavish every spare iota of attention he could muster upon Hank; it was the least he could do to thank him.   
  
After two new samples (and an extra orgasm for Connor on top of the first two; “Just because _I_ have a limit doesn’t mean _you _need to stop,” Hank said with a self-satisfied smirk, as he took him apart with his experienced hands), they took a break for dinner and an evening’s rest.   
  
“Tomorrow is the last day before you return to work, isn’t it?” Connor asked over salmon and asparagus.   
  
“Yup,” Hank answered. “Can’t wait to see what they’ve piled up on my desk. It’s usually whoever’s the new guy that gets all the crap cases, but I’ll buy a hat just to eat it if they avoided the temptation of my glaringly empty desk. Happened last year with Wilson; he went away for his anniversary and came back to all the shit everyone else didn’t wanna do. I think Fowler allows it so people don’t take too many vacations.”   
  
“Hopefully your coworkers will be merciful, since your vacation was forced upon you.”   
  
Hank shrugged. “Eh. Might’ve been forced, but it was still a pretty damn good one. I’ll accept my office-approved punishment.”   
  
Connor just hummed, thinking about his plan. He would need the evening to finish parsing these new samples, but then he was fairly sure he could create the ovum the next day. Even with one more sample, which Hank graciously bestowed upon him as they were heading to bed that night, he was right on schedule come morning. 8am found him with an estimated 99.2% accurate understanding of Hank’s full DNA structure and everything he needed to create ‘his own’ sex cells. After breakfast, he decided to work on it.   
  
He wasn’t expecting the process to leave him so distracted, but his preoccupation was obvious enough that Hank seemed worried.   
  
“Hey, you okay?” he asked, as he went about the late-morning routine of post-breakfast cleanup. “You seem kinda out of it.”   
  
“I’m sorry,” Connor said, blinking at Hank. “I’m simply busy compiling the ovum. I didn’t realize it would take so many dedicated processes, but I want it to turn out perfect.”   
  
Hank perked up, like Sumo did when he heard a word he liked, like ‘walk’ or ‘dinner’. “Oh. So you’re doin’ that, huh? Well, don’t stress out about it. I’m sure it’s gonna turn out great.”   
  
Despite Hank’s words, _he_ seemed to be at least as stressed as Connor, if not more. Probably more, as Connor didn’t feel all that stressed. He knew he could handle this; he just didn’t know if he could handle it while also paying attention to much of anything else, let alone being as attentive to his partner as Hank deserved.   
  
“I’m not worried,” he said lightly. “But I think I may rest, if that’s alright with you, so that I can focus.”   
  
“Sure, sure. Yeah, do whatever you need to.” Hank waved Connor off, and Connor’s spare processing power was so limited he didn’t even consider thanking him, or asking if he needed help with anything before he retired. He just walked to the bedroom and lied down on the comforter. He closed his eyes and shut down most of his other auxiliary sensory functions.   
  
When he woke, it was evening and he had quite a few messages available for his perusal. First and foremost: the ovum was complete. The delicate little cell sat snug in his abdomen, ripe and waiting to be seeded. It was clean, fresh, and not marred by a single congenital abnormality. It was almost exactly the cell Connor would have provided if he was human.   
  
He sorted through the other messages before he got out of bed. A new android had introduced himself during Connor’s several-hour rest, a PJ500 who went by the name of Josh.   
  
_[It’s great to meet you all],_ he said to the server as the other greeted him and asked questions. _[I’m really looking forward to working together.] _  
  
_[Hello, Josh],_ Connor replied belatedly. _[I’m sorry I didn’t greet you earlier. I was compiling an ovum.]_ For good measure, he sent across a data packet about the day’s work. He smiled to himself, proud of how it had turned out and eager to share his success with his friends.   
  
_[Connor, that’s wonderful],_ Chloe said.   
  
_[Nice],_ North replied, with a thumbs-up.   
  
_[I hope it turns out well],_ Simon sent.   
  
Markus said, _[Congratulations. I’m sure Hank will be very pleased.] _  
  
The newcomer, Josh, luckily didn’t seem upset at Connor for stealing his relative spotlight. _[Already? That’s so inspiring! Keep up the good work!] _  
  
Connor was fully intending to keep up the good work. Being this close to his goal made him more excited than ever to see it though. To that end, he stood from the bed and went out to find Hank. There was one more step before he could say things were truly underway.   
  
“Hey, you’re up,” Hank said with a smile as he looked over his shoulder from where he sat on the couch. “Sleep well?”   
  
“Very well,” Connor said, and he came over to the couch and bent down and kissed Hank soundly. Hank’s eyes looked a little glazed when they pulled apart, which left Connor feeling what he would have called aroused if he were human. As it was, he was definitely willing to call it at very least ‘enticed’. “But I need your help now.”   
  
Hank’s face fell just a little. “Oh? You okay?”   
  
“Yes,” Connor said, nodding resolutely. “The ovum is complete. Now it needs to be fertilized. I could use any of your previous samples for it, but I favor the idea of letting it happen… organically. What do you think?”   
  
Hank stared at him; Connor couldn’t tell if it was in awe or trepidation. “I think… this is a big deal. You’re absolutely sure? That you wanna do this, I mean.”   
  
A grin split Connor’s face. There was no question to him. “Absolutely,” he said.   
  
“Then…” Hank swallowed, looking a little bit nervous, a flashback to earlier in the week, when things between them were still somewhat unknown. But he reigned it in, and soon the expression was covered by such a gentle look, something softly excited if Connor was not simply projecting his own emotions onto the man. “Then yeah. Of course. I think it’s a great idea.”   
  
It wasn’t that Connor had been worried, but hearing Hank agree to do this was a relief. That was strange in and of itself, that he should be feeling an emotion that was primarily tied to endorphin release in humans, but what was most strange was that he had become so set on doing it _this_ way, and not just whichever way was most efficient. Using a previous sample would’ve been faster, easier, _cleaner_ for sure. But it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Hank to fill him again with the sole purpose of creating this child _with Connor,_ not just being a passive participant.   
  
And Hank, luckily, seemed quite pleased to be more than passive. His words were just a little bit at-odds with his actions, as he continued to ask Connor, “You really wanna do this?” or “You’re sure you’re ready?”, but as it didn’t stop him from pushing Connor down on the bed and looming over him like some giant guardian of legend, he didn’t mind.   
  
“Yes, Hank, I’m sure,” he said as his hands twined up around his partner’s neck, into his quickly-disheveled hair, holding him tight and close. “I want this. I want us to have this.”   
  
Deep within him, Hank grunted, giving Connor exactly what he wanted. “Then so do I,” he said into Connor’s ear, his breath hot and intimate. He leaned back up and brushed his thumb over Connor’s temple, where the light must have been glowing under his skin. “You’re really something. I just can’t get over you.”   
  
Connor mimicked Hank’s gesture, smoothing a thumb over his temple and down across the wrinkles that edged his shining eyes. “You don’t have to get over me. I intend to stay by your side as long as possible.”   
  
The declaration seemed to have an effect on Hank, who bit his lip as he gazed down at Connor and thrust into him as if they couldn’t get close enough. Connor felt quite the same, and he somewhat dreaded the days that would follow, when there would no longer be an excuse to have Hank fill the emptiness inside of him. For now, though, it was everything he wanted, and he accepted it gladly.   
  
And before long, it was complete. Hank panted on top of him, unafraid of crushing him after Connor had promised several times that he could bear it, and _liked_ to bear it. Connor draped his arms over Hank’s back, fingers finding the little dimples there and settling in. He held Hank inside of him, blocking the downward flow of the semen so his body could absorb it, pull it further up into his abdomen where it would meet its waiting match. Then nature would take its course, assisted by Connor’s careful observation. If things continued the way they were, there wouldn’t be much that he would need to do, but to live like humans did-- eat, drink, and wait. He could keep an eye on it, but with all the pieces in play, the project would soon take on a life of its own.   
  
Regardless of how this affected his relationship with Hank, Connor couldn’t be happier at the thought of accomplishing his life goal. The child was on its way; provided there were no complications, they would meet it in good time. Tomorrow would be the first of approximately 280 days of waiting.   
  
Until then, all that was left to do was wrap his arms tighter around his dozing partner, and sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your continued support, everyone! It means a lot to me, especially as this fic gets longer and I realize what I've committed to, haha...  
This time of year is hectic around here, so I might be skipping the next update. Either that, or switching to a twice-monthly update instead of thrice-monthly. Regardless, I'll try to keep writing, even if family members are hounding me for holiday-related help.  
That said, happy Thanksgiving to my American friends; to my non-American friends, I highly suggest indulging in some pie anyway. You can tell people you're studying foreign culture! =D

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, friends! I'm hoping to maintain some semblance of a schedule with this one (trying to keep at least one buffer chapter), but I'm also easily distracted haha... ^^; I'm shooting for 10 day updates, if I can keep up the buffer (and not just forget everything and play video games pfft).  
Anyway, I dunno if anyone ever wants to chat, but you can find me on Tumblr (by the name of "Eloarei"), or even easier on Discord (Eloarei#0027). I'd love to hear from you. =]  
EDIT: April 2020: (spoiler alert, she did not keep up the updates. bigsad)


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